The Draytons were both upon their feet when I stole back into the hall. I needed my hat and coat, or I shouldn’t have set foot within the house again that night. Jack, a bit staggery and holding to the back of a chair, mopped the cut on his temple with a handkerchief, his wife’s handkerchief, in his free hand. Natica, a smear of red on the front of her frock, stood beside him, with a strangely happy expression in her face and pose. A great many things had been pushed over the precipice which leads to forgetfulness, in the time I had been out on the sidewalk busy with the cabby.
“Good-night, Percy,” Jack called out.
“Good-night,” said I, going to him to take his hand, for he was too wobbly to have met me halfway.
“It’s been a nightmare,” said he. “We’ll wake up to-morrow morning and know that we’ve only been asleep.”
“Yes,” I agreed, but looking at the puffiness in his face, I thought this was coming it a bit strong.
“Good-night, Percy,” said Natica. And gently as she spoke the words, it came to me with a sudden rush of conviction that I had ceased fagging for the Drayton establishment for good—now.
“It was coming to me,” said Jack. I was fiddling on the threshold uncertainly.
“Hush, you foolish boy,” whispered Natica, touching the cut on his forehead, just once, with a very tender finger.
“Yes, it was coming to you,” said I. I was glad that they perceived the conviction in my speech.
And that is how I had my last supper with Natica.