'Yes,' was the reply of the unblushing Mr. Tom Hawksleigh.
'Most strange!'
'Shall we not follow him?' urged Sir Jasper, with his blandest tone.
'I ought to go home to the Hôtel St. Antoine,' said Alison, with doubt now added to her dismay.
'You can't do that alone. The Restaurant au Progrès is close by—almost a part of the theatre—and if Lord Cadbury is unwell——'
'Then let us go instantly, please.'
He led her at once from the hall and down the staircase, up which fresh groups—men in evening dress and ladies in masks and dominoes—were crowding, all laughing and joyous, and thence into the Rue des Escrimeurs, where they crossed the street, and entered a brilliantly lighted café; but avoiding the great pillared dining or supper hall, which was fitted up with marble tables, crowded with guests (many of them masked dominoes), he led her upstairs to a private supper-room, preceded by a waiter, to whom he gave some instructions rapidly in French.
Where was Lord Cadbury, he inquired.
The waiter did not know. Among the many now in the cafè, milord might be one; but he would inquire. Meantime, what did monsieur wish for supper.
In the fair cheek of Alison the delicate colour came and went, and in her eyes there was a strange look of inquiry as she glanced from one man to the other, ignorant that in an instant there was a secret understanding between them, and that the Belgian valet de cabaret took in the whole situation at once.