“Yes,” she went on, more to herself than to Westerham, “I think that is the better way. To-night—just, I think, to prove that he cares for nobody—Melun has taken a box at the Empire. I am going there with him. It is possible that you could join us.”
Westerham laughed with some bitterness.
“I am obliged to you for your suggestion,” he said, “but you do not seem to appreciate that I have been robbed by Melun of all the appurtenances of a decent existence. It is to his efforts—and to some extent yours—that I am at the present moment, in spite of all my millions, homeless. I have not even a dress-suit to my name. If, therefore, my appearance in your box this evening is a little incongruous, you will have to excuse me.”
“Quite so; quite so,” said Mme. Estelle with a queer smile, the meaning of which was not at the moment obvious to Westerham.
After this he took his departure; nor did he for the moment fulfill his intention of visiting Dunton. It was useless to go to that young man until after he had met Melun. After that meeting his plans might have to be remodelled.
To distract his thoughts he went to a matinee, and afterwards dined alone, lingering over his cigarette till the restaurant clock showed him it was half-past nine.
He then made his way to the Empire and entered the lounge. From there he was able to discern quite easily the box in which Melun was seated. He made his way to it, and without even the formality of knocking turned the handle of the door and went in.
As he did so Melun rose angrily to his feet, and, as though he had never known Westerham in his life before, demanded what he meant by the intrusion.
Westerham bowed to Mme. Estelle, and then turned his attention to the captain.
“Don't be a fool,” he said shortly; “I have not the slightest intention of being treated in this way. I think you had better sit down.”