“I will go there and get tea,” decided Philip. “It is bright in there, at any rate.” And he made his way into the lounge. There he saw to his joy a man he knew. It was Dan Webster’s friend, Stanley Browne.
“Hallo! Barrimore!” cried Browne. “Who would have thought of seeing you! Where are you staying?”
“In Cannon Place,” answered Philip, grasping Browne’s hand vigorously. “Hotels are too noisy for me, so I am in rooms. I just looked in for tea here.”
“You drink tea, do you! you hardened reprobate! Well, you must forgive me if I do not join you. Tea plays the deuce with me. I am glad you came in, though! What are you doing this evening? We might go somewhere together if you have no engagement.”
“I have no engagement,” said Philip, “and shall be delighted to go anywhere you like—to something frivolous by preference. They have tragedies on at both theatres, I notice.”
“The Hippodrome, then?” suggested Browne.
“Yes, by all means!” agreed Philip. “There is always something amusing on there.”
Browne ordered tea for his friend, and the two men found a table near the welcome blaze of the fire and seated themselves.
“Seen Dan lately?” asked Browne.
“Not very lately,” answered Philip; “but I had a letter from him to-day.”