“I think it’s all right,” said Elliott, noticing his look, “eh, Clifford?”
“Is there enough champagne?” asked that youth, calculating four quart bottles to each person.
Rowden groaned.
“Of course there is. What are you made of?”
“Human flesh,” acknowledged the other meekly.
At eleven the guests began to arrive, welcomed by the triumvirs with great state and dignity. Rowden, looking about, missed only one—Gethryn, and he entered at the same moment.
“Just in time,” said Rowden, and made the move to the table. As Gethryn sat down, he noticed that the place on Rowden’s right was vacant, and before it stood a huge bouquet of white violets.
“Too bad she isn’t here,” said Rowden, glancing at Gethryn and then at the vacant place.
“That’s awfully nice of you, Rowden,” cried Gethryn, with a happy smile; “she will have a chance to thank you tonight.”
He leaned over and touched his face to the flowers. As he raised his head again, his eyes met Braith’s.