Carey had come back to town, but he went nowhere. He was in bad odour. Sir Donald Ulford was almost the only person he saw anything of at this time. It seemed that Sir Donald had taken a fancy to Carey. At any rate, such friendly feeling as he had did not seem lessened after Carey’s exhibition at Arkell House. When Carey returned to Stratton Street, Sir Donald paid him a visit and stayed some time. No allusion was made to the painful circumstances under which they had last seen each other until Sir Donald was on the point of going away. Then he said:
“You have not forgotten that I expect you at Casa Felice towards the end of August?”
Carey looked violently astonished.
“Still?” he said.
“Yes.”
Suddenly Carey shot out his hand and grasped Sir Donald’s.
“You aren’t afraid to have a drunken beast like me in Casa Felice! It’s a damned dangerous experiment.”
“I don’t think so.”
“It’s your own lookout, you know. I absolve you from the invitation.”
“I repeat it, then.”