The waiter came, bringing a bottle of whisky, and placed it on the table, but Leicester did not touch it.
Winfield sent the waiter away on some trifling commission, and then he went on:
"If I were you, I would not start drinking to-night. You might be mistaken, you know, and if you are——"
Leicester rose to his feet hurriedly.
"I can't eat, Winfield, and I can't sit down to the mockery of a dinner. I'm going somewhere."
"Where?"
"I don't know. Probably to throw myself in the Thames. Sorry to be such a fool, old man. A good appetite to you."
He rushed out of the club, and did not return till past midnight; but when he returned he showed no signs of drinking.
The next morning he started for The Beeches again.