"My cousin appeared well?" came the inquiry.
"Perfectly well, sire. Remarkably so."
"I am enchanted to hear it; he has need of steady nerves. That will do."
He pushed away the glass and rose, his glance encountering that of Allard near him.
"You almost hate me to-night, Allard?" he questioned softly.
Allard, in evening dress, the tiny jeweled star of honor flashing on his coat, was very different in appearance from the smoke-grimed gentleman of noon, but his gray eyes met Adrian's in the same indignation with which they had shone from beneath the stains of the explosion.
"Almost, sire," he acknowledged.
Staggered by the unexpected frankness, Adrian nearly lost his self-possession for the first time in his seventeen years. But he recovered immediately.
"Thanks for the 'almost'," he said with nonchalance. "Just bring my cloak; I want you to go with me."
Amazed at himself, Allard obeyed, humiliatingly aware that he had been scarcely decorous and certainly unwise.