"Poisoning all it touches," he said. "Blasting the life of all who pass
beneath its deadly foliage--U,P,A,S--Upas."
He paused before the great mirror, gazing at his own reflection.
He put his face quite close to the glass, staring into his burning eyes.
Then he struck at the reflection with his clenched fist. "Upas tree!" he
snarled. "Take that, and be damned!"
He had hurt his knuckles. He walked back to the fire, rubbing them
carefully with his left hand.
"Poor old chap," he said. "It _is_ hard lines! You meant well; but all
the while you were a Upas tree. '_I, Helen, take thee, Upas, to be my
wedded husband_.' Poor lovely Helen! What a bargain!"
He sat down in a deep basket-chair, lighted a cigarette, pushed another
chair into position, exactly in front of him, with his foot; then
filling it, one by one, with friends of his own and Helen's, held
conversation with them.
"Quite right, my dear Mrs. Dalmain! You need not now confine yourself to
_looking_ your disapproval; you can _say_ exactly what you think. You
see, Helen herself has told me the worst truth of all. I am a Upas tree.
She sums me up thus: U, P, A, S! You can hardly beat that, Mrs. Dalmain.
In fact, you look distressed. I can see that your kind heart is sorry
for me. Helen said you were a wonderful person to turn to in trouble.
There is no one in the world quite like you. Well, now's your chance to
prove it; for surely nobody ever came to you in more desperate trouble.
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