“Of course it is! Morton, old chap, you shall go with us, never fear!” Cecil declared vigorously. “Tell you what, Len, if you won’t do the agreeable and make things right with Fothergill—as you can, if you like, of course—I shan’t go, so there! Which is it to be—both or neither?”
“Both, of course,” de Cartienne answered, with as good grace as possible. “I shouldn’t have thought Morton would have cared about it, that’s all. Be ready punctually at half-past seven, you men.”
“All right!” exclaimed Cecil, delighted at getting his own way for a change. “Good old Len! Morton, pitch that beastly Livy into the drawer and come and change your things. We’ll have some fun to-night!”
CHAPTER XXX.
ECARTÉ WITH MR. FOTHERGILL.
At a little before eight o’clock de Cartienne, Cecil, and I presented ourselves at the bar of the “Bull” Hotel, and inquired for Mr. Fothergill. We were shown at once by a waiter into a small private sitting-room, brilliantly illuminated and unmistakably cosy. Under the chandelier was a small round table glittering with plate and flowers; and, standing upon the hearthrug, critically surveying it, was a middle-aged, dapper-looking little man, in well-cut evening clothes, with a white camellia in his buttonhole.
His hair was slightly tinged with grey, but his moustache was still jet-black and elaborately curled and waxed. His forehead was low and his full red lips and slightly hooked nose gave him something of a Jewish appearance. He had just missed being handsome, and, similarly, had just missed being good form; at least, so it seemed to me from my first rapid survey, and I did not afterwards change my opinion.
Directly we entered the room he moved forward to meet us, with a smile which revealed a very fine set of teeth. I watched him closely as he noted the addition to the party, but he betrayed no surprise or annoyance. On the contrary, when Cecil had introduced me as his friend and fellow-pupil at Borden Tower, he welcomed me with a courtesy which was a little effusive. On the whole, I decided that his manners were in his favour.
There was some casual conversation, an explanation rather more elaborate than seemed to me necessary of his flying visit to Little Drayton, and then dinner was announced. Everything had evidently been carefully ordered and prepared and was of the best. Mr. Fothergill, whatever his shortcomings, made a capital host; and his talk, though a trifle slangy and coarse at times, was amusing in the extreme. Altogether, the dinner was a success in every respect save one. For four men, two of whom were under twenty, there was a great deal too much wine drunk.
I think I scarcely noticed it until the cloth was removed and dessert placed upon the table. Then a curious sense of exhilaration in my own spirits warned me to be careful and I looked round at once at the others.
Cecil sat directly opposite to me and I saw at a glance how it was with him. His hair, which he always kept rather long, but carefully parted, was disarranged and untidy; his neat tie had become crumpled and had slipped up on one side; his eyes were sparkling, as though with some unusual excitement, and there was a glow of colour in his cheeks almost hectic in its intensity.