“Don’t speak to him, Lady Rundel!” came hissing, forced speech from Haverley. “Allow me to see you to your car. I have something very particular to say to Captain O’Hagan!”
O’Hagan bowed again inimitably.
“Good-night, Lady Rundel. I have something very particular to say to you in the morning.”
Captain O’Hagan sank reposefully into a lounge, and, the observed of everyone who passed out of the theatre, awaited Haverley’s return. At least a score of ladies inquired sotto voce of their escorts: “Who is that distinguished-looking man?”
Haverley presently returned, forcing his way roughly against the thinning stream of supper-seekers. Over the heads of the outgoing, O’Hagan perceived the drawn face and angry, blazing eyes. He turned his glass casually in that direction.
Quivering before him, Haverley said, with hardly repressed violence:
“You are a blackguard! I have little doubt that a public brawl would be to your low taste. But I prefer to call upon you to-morrow. I shall bring a horse-whip!” Unable further to trust himself to face the icy stare which met him, he turned, and almost ran from the now empty lobby.
Captain O’Hagan swung streetward, in turn. A taxi-cab had at that moment pulled up to the kerb; and Haverley was fumbling with shaking fingers for a coin for the theatre attendant, ere entering it.
O’Hagan calmly opened the door, stepped in, and reclosed it. Leaning from the window:
“Junior Guards Club!” he said. “Half a sovereign if you do it in four minutes!”