Then he went into the tavern out of the darkness and blinked at the landlord, who called him to the desk and gave a letter into his hands. It was sealed, but there was no stamp on it.
“Ordered by Mrs. Everett to hand it to you,” reported Brophy, sourly. “She wanted to see you last time you were down, but it slipped my mind to tell you.”
Latisan read the note. The lady of the parlor entreated him to come to her on a matter of business, no matter how late the hour might be. He tore up the paper on his way to the fireplace and tossed the bits on the embers.
“Same room for me?” he asked Brophy.
“Yes, but Mrs. Everett said for me——”
“Damn Mrs. Everett! I’m going to bed.”
It consoled him a little, as he walked upstairs, to reflect that he was not dominated by all the women in the world, even if he was in the way of making himself a fool over one.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
LATISAN, going to sleep, hoped that he would awake with a saner viewpoint.