"It was Warry and Saxton," said Mr. Porter. "I thought they'd stop to talk it over."
Evelyn had thought so too, but she did not say so.
CHAPTER XII A MORNING AT ST. PAUL'S
Wheaton ran away from the livelier spirits of the Knights of Midas, who urged him to join in a celebration at the club after the ball broke up. He pleaded the necessity of early rising and went home and to bed, where, however, he slept little, but lay dreaming over the incidents of the night, particularly those in which he had figured. Many people had congratulated him, and while there was an irony in much of this, as if the whole proceeding were a joke, he had taken it all in the spirit, in which it had been offered. He felt a trifle anxious as to his reception at the breakfast table as he dressed, but his mirror gave him confidence. The night had been an important one for him, and he could afford to bear with his fellows, who would, he knew, spare him no more than they spared any one else in their chaff.
They flaunted at him the morning papers with portraits of the king and queen of the ball bracketed together in double column. He took the papers from them as he replied to their ironies, and casually inspected them while the Chinaman brought in his breakfast.
"Didn't expect to see you this morning," said Caldwell, the Transcontinental agent, stirring his coffee and winking at Brown, the smelter manager. "You society men are usually shy at breakfast."
Wheaton put down his paper carelessly, and spread his napkin.
"Oh, a king has to eat," said Brown.