The instant he passed the door he saw Madame Ghita, and, seated on the banquette beside her, talking away earnestly, was Paul Scott. Selden was conscious of a decided feeling of relief. Old Scott wouldn’t do any harm. For some reason he had feared that it was Halsey!
He approached them with a smile. Scott was too absorbed in his talk to notice him, but Madame Ghita had seen him at once, and his heart quickened a little as her smile answered his.
“Good evening, M. Selden,” she said; “this is very nice. You will sit down, of course?” and she made room for him on the banquette. “You know Monsieur ... Monsieur....”
“Scott is the villain’s name,” said Selden, as he sat down. “Yes, I know him—too well, indeed!”
Scott, his discourse brought abruptly to a halt, stared at him in indignation.
“See here, Selden,” he said, “don’t you know that when a gentleman is talking to a lady, third persons aren’t wanted? It is plain that you are not a man of the world! Run along now!”
“I like it very well here,” said Selden, settling back in his seat.
“Then my seconds will wait on you in the morning,” said Scott fiercely.
“All right—coffee and pistols, eh? Only I’ll take my coffee now,” and he told a waiter to bring him some.
“Is it that you are rivals?” asked Madame Ghita, who had listened to this interchange in evident alarm.