"So good of you to ask me," Rathbone said. "I should have gone to the Oxford and Cambridge Club, had a beef-steak, looked at the evening papers, and then returned to chambers to write letters. Rather a dismal proceeding on a night like this!"
"Hadn't you anything on to-night, then?" Charliewood asked carelessly.
"Not a single thing," Rathbone answered. "I've been cutting all my engagements during the last week or two, telling people I was going out of town. I've got a special reason for working very hard just now."
Charliewood started, and a slight gleam came into his eyes.
"Good idea, that!" he said, "telling people you're going out of town when you want to be quiet for a week or two!"
"It is," Rathbone replied. "At most of the houses I'm in the habit of going to just now every one thinks I'm away. I've been living the life of a recluse, as far as society goes."
Charliewood slightly lifted a glass of Pol Roger.
"Here's success to the work, my dear boy," he said jovially. "And I congratulate myself on the odd accident which brought us together. And of course I don't know you very well, Rathbone, and I am sure I should hate to be impertinent in any way. But still, as you know, I go about everywhere, and one can't help hearing things. And, besides, I'm in a special position in regard to a certain matter, too. Here's my best wish for your happiness in the future, in another way!"
He looked straight into the young man's eyes as he said this, and as he did so Rathbone, whose glass was lifted in response, began to colour until his whole face became crimson.
"I haven't offended you?" Charliewood said quickly.