When dinner was over, they passed to the smoking-room, where Mr Boyle very speedily disposed of a few whiskies, taking two to the other’s one.
It was here that Wingate touched lightly and delicately upon the visit to Smeaton.
“I would like to impress upon you, Mr Boyle, that, under ordinary circumstances. Miss Monkton would be delighted to receive any old friend of her father’s; but I fear such a visit at present would pain her very much.”
Boyle rose to the occasion. “It is I who am in fault. It was a thoughtless suggestion on my part, made on the spur of the moment, and prompted, I assure you, by the sincerest feelings of sympathy for her, and esteem for my dear old friend.”
If his motives been of the nature suggested by Smeaton, he was certainly taking it very well. Wingate pressed on him another whisky-and-soda. The offer was accepted with his usual alacrity. His powers of absorption appeared to be unbounded.
Wingate proposed a change of scene. “What do you say to an hour or two at the Empire? We’ll stroll round and get a couple of stalls.”
Mr Boyle was delighted at the suggestion. “Excellent,” he cried, with the glee of a schoolboy. “Dear old Empire, dear old mad and sad Empire, what visions it conjures up! Let us go at once. I will tread again the merry lounge, forget all gnawing care, and summon back the light-heartedness of youth.”
He revelled in it all so much that it was eleven o’clock before Wingate could get him away. And then he had not exhausted his capacity for enjoyment.
“Let us make a night of it,” he cried cheerfully. “You don’t know what a delight it is to mix for a few hours with a man of my own world, like yourself. We had an excellent dinner, but I am sure we could do a little supper together.”
Wingate would have preferred to decline, but, if he did so, Boyle might be offended. And it was, above all things, necessary to keep him in good humour.