He had grown years younger. Happiness had
taken hold of him and he was a changed being.
"A man may doubt his own work sometimes," he said; "but when he has
struck an imperishable and everlasting note of music, well--he hears it
as surely as other people hear it. Until to-night then, my friend."
Douglas shook him by the hand.
"There will be some sort of a kickup behind after the show," he
remarked. "Champagne and sandwiches and a little Royalty. Remember
that I am relying upon you to bring Cicely."
"We are as likely to forget our own existence," Drexley laughed. "For a
few hours then, _au revoir_."
Douglas walked down the broad street to his rooms, smoking a cigarette
and humming an opera tune. His eyes were bright, his head thrown back;
a touch of the Spring seemed to have found its way into his blood, for
he was curiously lighthearted. He let himself in with a latchkey and
entered his study for a moment or two, intending to dress early and dine
at his club. On his writing-table were several letters, a couple of
cards, and an orange-coloured envelope. He took the latter into his
fingers, hesitated for a moment, and then tore it open.
"GARD DE NORD, PARIS.
"I shall arrive at Dover at eight this evening.
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