one ever had and staring me in the face all the time and I never saw it! But I don't grudge it to you—you deserve it my boy! You're a nut!”
“I really don't know what you mean.”
“Quite right, my boy!” chuckled Mr. Montague. “You're quite right to keep it up, even among friends. It don't do to risk anything, and the least said soonest mended.”
He went on his way, leaving Roland completely mystified.
Voices from his sitting-room, among which he recognized the high note of Miss Verepoint, reminded him of the ordeal before him. He entered with what he hoped was a careless ease of manner, but his heart was beating fast. Since the opening of rehearsals he had acquired a wholesome respect for Miss Verepoint's tongue. She was sitting in his favorite chair. There were also present Bromham Rhodes and R. P. de Parys, who had made themselves completely at home with a couple of his cigars and whisky from the oldest bin.
“So here you are at last!” said Miss Verepoint, querulously. “The valet told us you were expected back this morning, so we waited. Where on earth have you been to, running away like this, without a word?”
“I only went——”
“Well, it doesn't matter where you went. The main point is, what are you going to do about it?”
“We thought we'd better come along and talk it over,” said R. P. de Parys.
“Talk what over?” said Roland: “the revue?”
“Oh, don't try and be funny, for goodness' sake!” snapped Miss Verepoint. “It doesn't suit you. You haven't the right shape of head. What do you suppose we want to talk over? The theater, of course.”
“What about the theater?”
Miss Verepoint looked searchingly at him. “Don't you ever read the papers?”
“I haven't seen a paper since I went away.”
“Well, better have it quick and not waste time breaking it gently,” said Miss
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