“I will consider the question,” he said.
“Give me your promise, milord. Why should you hesitate? You are not thinking of palaces and the probable length of your Civil List, I know, so why not let me feel happy in the certainty that my country’s future is assured?”
“I must consult my father. He has a right to be told.”
“Come back to Thracia with me, and be crowned, and then tell him. He will be glad to be spared the trouble of advising you.”
“No, it would not be fair to him. I will let you know some time to-morrow. Good night,” and he left the room before M. Drakovics could stop him or even say anything further. His impulse was to get out of the house at once, and cool his heated brain by walking back to his lodgings, but he did not like to leave without bidding farewell to Mrs Sadleir. Entering the drawing-room in search of her, he was accosted by a man whom he knew slightly as connected in some way with the ‘Daily Chronograph.’
“Nasty sell for you, wasn’t it?” he remarked. Usk stared at him blankly.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said.
“Why, this afternoon—about that Bill of yours. Have you forgotten it already?”
“Oh—my Bill,” repeated Usk, vaguely. “I have been thinking of—of other things since then. Excuse me, I can’t stay.”
“He looks perfectly dazed,” said the other man to himself. “What can it be? Has some girl chucked him? No! who’s that talking to Mrs Sadleir? Drakovics, no less!”