Yes, Bella
had gone and left Flavilla without even a glass of water. But Bella
didn't matter. He couldn't understand this--except where he saw at last
that she never had mattered; yet it was so. June Bowman was different.
There was no rush about the latter--to-morrow, next week would do
equally. There was no doubt either. Lemuel Doret gave a passing
thought, like a half-contemptuous gesture of final dismissal, to so
much that had lately occupied him. The shadow of a smile disfigured his
metallic lips.
The following noon he shut the door of his house with a sharp impact
and made his way over the single street of Nantbrook toward the city.
His fear of it had vanished; and when he reached the steel-bound
towering masonry, the pouring crowds, he moved directly to a theater
from which an audience composed entirely of men was passing out by the
posters of a hectic burlesque.
"Clegett?" he asked at the grille of the box office.
A small man with a tilted black derby came from the darkened
auditorium.
"Where have you been?" he demanded as he caught sight of Lemuel Doret.
"I asked two or three but you might have been dead for all of them."
"That's just about what I have," Doret answered. "Mr. Clegett, I'd like
a little money."
"How little?"
"A hundred would be plenty."
The other without hesitation produced a fold of currency, from which he
transferred an amount to Lemuel Doret. It went into his pocket without
a glance.
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