"Has he come into a fortune, or what?" Maud demanded. "He's left you, hasn't he?"
Mr. Waddington nodded.
"He's found a better job," he admitted. "Kind of queer in his health, though. I've been taken a little like it myself, but those sort of things pass off—they pass off."
Milly looked at him curiously. He was suddenly quiet.
"Why, you're looking just like Mr. Burton did a few minutes ago!" she declared. "What's the matter with you? Can you see ghosts?" Mr. Waddington sat quite still. "Yes," he muttered, "I see ghosts!"
They looked at him in a puzzled manner. Then Milly leaned towards him and filled his glass with Wine. She touched his glass with her own, she even suffered her arm to rest upon his shoulder. For a single moment Mr. Waddington appeared to feel some instinct of aversion. He seemed almost about to draw away. Then the mood passed. He drew her towards him with a little burst of laughter, and raised his glass to his lips.
"Here's fun!" he exclaimed. "Poor old Burton!"
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE REAL ALFRED BURTON
Edith slipped out of her evening cloak and came into the foyer of the Opera House, a spotless vision of white. For a moment she looked at her cavalier in something like amazement. It did not need the red handkerchief, a corner of which was creeping out from behind his waistcoat, to convince her that some extraordinary change had taken place in Burton. He was looking pale and confused, and his quiet naturalness of manner had altogether disappeared. He came towards her awkwardly, swinging a pair of white kid gloves in his hand.