It was Mr. Spenser Churchill’s voice, and as he was ushered into the center room he held out both hands to Percy Levant and smiled his sweetest smile.
“My dear Percy, may I congratulate you? May I?”
“You may,” said Percy Levant, giving him a hand.
Spenser Churchill drew a long breath and laughed, an oily laugh of vast contentment.
“Happy bridegroom! Lucky fellow!” he murmured. “This is the marriage day, eh?”
“This is the happy day, yes,” said Percy Levant. “Sit down, won’t you? I’m afraid you are tired. Let me offer you some wine?” He went to the sideboard. “I’m sorry there’s nothing but brandy here. I’ll ring for some——”
“Pray don’t trouble, my dear Percy,” said Spenser Churchill, blandly; “a little brandy is an excellent thing, if taken in moderation.”
Percy Levant mixed a stiff glass, and placed it before him.
“You can understand why I sent for you,” he said, seating himself opposite to Spenser Churchill, whose back was turned to the curtains which divided this room from the marquis’ dressing-room. “My part of the contract being fulfilled, I want to know what my position really is, and whether this nonsense of yours has any particle of truth in it?”
Spenser Churchill stared indignantly.