The housemaid went to the cellar and fetched the wine.
"Here's to you, Dicker! May you become a G. W. Stevens or a Julian Ralph!"
"Thanks, old chap. I'll do my best, now that my chance has come. I say I am awfully sorry about Lady Davidson. It's such rough luck on Mrs. Gilbert. You'll be rather at a loose end without your wife, won't you?—or will you write?"
He tossed off his second glass of Pol Roger.
"Oh, I shall be quite happy," Lothian answered, and as he said it a quiet smile came placidly upon his lips. It glowed out from within, as from some comfortable inward knowledge.
Ingworth saw it, and his mind, quickened by wine and excitement, found the truth unerringly.
Anger and envy flushed the young man's veins. He hated his host once more.
"So that is his game, damned hypocrite!" Ingworth thought. "I shall be away, his wife will be out of the way and he will make the running with Rita Wallace just as he likes."
He looked at Lothian, and then had a mental vision of himself.
"He's fat and bloated," he thought. "Surely a young and lovely girl like Rita can't care for him?"