Nevertheless, there was the bill staring up at him, as he stared down at it.
| Private Parlour, bedroom and bath | $ | 75.00 |
| Luncheon served à la carte in parlour | $ | 6.50 |
| Wine | $ | 5.00 |
| Cablegram sent to London & Southern bank | $ | 10.50 |
| Hire of Automobile three hours | $ | 15.00 |
| —— | ||
| Total | $ | 122.00 |
| Dinner, as ordered, and to be paid in advance | $ | 8.50 |
| Champagne | $ | 10.00 |
Lord Loveland, hardly knowing what he said or did in the persistent nightmare from which he could not wake, called the waiter to him, from ambush behind his chair.
The man came, with eyes cast patiently down, not to meet the angry blaze turned dangerously upon him. He knew that something was wrong, very wrong, indeed, but it was not his affair, except that he was consumed with honest curiosity, and he did not wish grievances to be visited on him.
"There must be some mistake here," said Loveland, folding up the paper, and replacing the three sheets in the envelope, with fingers that were not quite steady. "This can't be for me. You see, there's no name on the thing. You've brought it to the wrong person."
"No—o, sir," returned the servant. "I was told to bring it to you. If there's a mistake, sir, it isn't me who's made it."
"Very well, then, somebody else has," insisted Loveland. "I tell you this can't possibly be meant for me. Give the envelope back to whoever gave it to you, and ask him to hand it to the manager, saying that in error it was delivered to Lord Loveland."
"Yes, sir." The waiter obediently took charge of the offensive envelope, and ambled away with it, to confer at a distance with the person from whom it had been received five minutes ago. There were a few gestures, a few shrugs, and then the two approached Lord Loveland's table together.
"It's quite right, sir," murmured the newcomer. "The letter is for you, sir. There's no mistake." As if by way of reminder he gently laid the envelope down on the table, in the place where those iced Blue Points never would be now.
Deadly white under his brown tan, Val rose without a word, crumpling the envelope in a hand that itched to clutch someone by the throat, and flinging down a silver dollar for the waiter. The Coolidges and their party were still at the violet-decked table as Loveland passed by, but he did not see them. He had forgotten their existence.