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That sort of thing's not in my way at all." Douglas was persistent. "There's no reason why it shouldn't be in your way," he said. "You know Miss Strong, and I'll look after the other girl. I've a fancy to have you come." Drexley took up a paper. "Go and pick up one of the young men," he said. "There are plenty of them who will be glad to spend the evening with Miss Strong.
London was beginning to raise herself with a great yawn, and to remember that at this season of the year, at least, she had a place amongst the beautiful cities of the world. Douglas, good-natured always, to-night particularly happy, saw Drexley standing alone as usual by the terrace window, and crossed over to his side. "Play me a game of billiards, Drexley," he exclaimed.
So he waited. "I have told you," Rice continued, "of Drexley and of poor young Silverton. I have told you that there have been many others. I have told you that she even tried to do you ill that you might be numbered amongst her victims. Now I tell you what as yet I have told no man. I, too, was once the most pitiful of her slaves." "You?" A sharp, staccato cry broke from Douglas's lips.
He believed him to be a clever, even a brilliant, writer witty, original, unique in his own vivid and picturesque style. But even Drexley had never believed him capable of such work as this.
They passed out from the stuffy atmosphere of the dimly-lit theatre to the sunlit squares and streets, Drexley and Douglas arm in arm, the former voluble, Douglas curiously silent. For it had been an afternoon of events, the final rehearsal of a play of which great things were expected, and which was to take London by storm. Drexley had always had faith in his friend.
I understand that those were your instructions." Drexley nodded. "Well, I shall want it kept back for a bit," he said. "You can take another story of about the same length from the accepted chest." The manager stared. "We've nothing else as good," he remarked. "You said yourself that Jesson's story was the best bit of work we'd had in for a long time."
She is a woman now, with keen susceptibilities as little a woman to be trifled with in her way as Emily de Reuss herself." The two men faced one another. Douglas was angry with Drexley, angry too with himself. "I believe you're right, Drexley," he said, with an effort, "but I'm hanged if I see what business it is of yours."
"Isn't it delightful?" she exclaimed. "Milly and I are so hungry, and we're dying to see the 'Milan. Will you bring Milly in another hansom?" Douglas nodded and lit a cigarette. He wondered whether, after all, this experiment was going to be such a brilliant success. Drexley, a travelled man of fastidious tastes and with ample means to gratify them, proved a delightful host.
Douglas, well-dressed, debonair, with a flower in his buttonhole, and never a wrinkle upon his handsome face, was in no humour for reservations. He filled his companion's glass brimful of wine, and attacked him boldly. "I want to know," he said, "what ails my philosophic friend. Out with it, man. Has Drexley been more of a bear than usual, or has Spargetti ceased his credit?"
"You're not quite yourself this evening, Jesson," he remarked. "I'm all right. Which way are you going to the club?" Drexley shook his head. "Back to my rooms," he answered. "I shall have a pipe and go to bed. I haven't slept well lately. To-night I think I shall." They were parted by a stream of outcoming people, and Douglas took advantage of the opportunity to slip away.
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