“Then come in the study and have a cup of coffee and a cigar first.”
“To be sure. I am with you there.”
Gartram threw open the door; they crossed the hall and entered the study, where a shaded lamp was burning, the window, wide open, and the soft subdued light of the moon, as it rose slowly over the glistening sea, flooded the room.
“What a glorious night!” said the doctor, as he went to the table, filled a cup with coffee, and then took a cigar and cut off the end before looking round, and then walking to the chimney-piece, while Glyddyr threw himself in a chair and began to help himself.
“Give me a cup too, my dear boy,” said Gartram, as he took a cigar. “Doctor does not cut down my smoking yet. No matches?”
“All right; here they are on the chimney-piece,” said the doctor, and as he spoke the flame of the little wax match gave his face a peculiar aspect in the dim room. “But, hallo! What have we here? Secret drinking. What is this?” and, as he spoke, he took up a glass standing on the chimney-piece.
“Secret drinking, indeed!” grunted Gartram. “It’s your confounded tonic, put there ready for me to take by-and-by.”
“A thousand pardons,” said the doctor, coming forward and taking up his coffee, while Glyddyr lay back in an easy-chair, gazing at the dimly-seen glass upon the mantelpiece, and smoking thoughtfully.
“You’ve no light, Glyddyr,” said Gartram, rising and going to the chimney-piece, where, with his back to his guests, he took up the wine glass, but uttered an impatient ejaculation, set it down again, and took up the match stand, which he placed beside Glyddyr, and then tossed off his coffee. “What do you say to finishing our smoking out on the terrace?”
“To be sure; yes,” said the doctor. “A most glorious night.”