“What do you mean?” asked Melun, savagely, and there crept into his eyes an embarrassed, even a hunted look.
“I meant nothing at all except that, in spite of everything, you must make it convenient to have me included among the guests.”
Melun appeared to think deeply for a few moments and then nodded acquiescence. “Very well,” he said grumpily, and closed the matter for that night.
On the following evening Melun arrived at the Walter's Hotel sleek and smiling. His face was as smooth as his shirt-front, and his manner as pleasant as the cut of his coat.
Westerham met him in the hall and nodded to him with an almost friendly smile. Presently they drove down to Downing Street.
When Lady Kathleen had entered into possession of No. 10 as hostess she had turned the rather dowdy old house upside down, and decorators and upholsterers had done all they could to make the old-fashioned building pleasant and graceful.
It was now about half-past ten, and the crush was very great. The Prime Minister, handsome and white-bearded, stood apart with Lady Kathleen to receive the guests.
As Melun pressed forward his gaze darted in all directions as though in the endeavour to find the eyes of friends or at least acquaintances. And many men nodded to him and many women smiled on him.
Though he had been away from England so long, all Westerham's knowledge of great social events came back to him, and he followed Melun easily and unembarrassed by the scores of eyes which looked at him with questioning and admiration.