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His companion laughed. "A Roland for your Oliver, my friend!" he cried. "Favour for favour! You grant my small request?"
Baggin shook his head.
"You will be king, eh?—and alone? Good!"
He put on his top hat, adjusted his silk muffler about his throat, and with an amiable nod to his companion, stepped out into the night.
The fog had thinned to a nebulous haze, fine as a lady's veil, and the young man strode along briskly. Ten minutes brought him to the waiting hansom.
"Covent Garden," he directed the driver. He sprang in and leaned back against the cushions.
"So Baggin would be king!" He smiled with a certain grimness.
CHAPTER III
IN WHICH A CERTAIN MOMENTOUS QUESTION IS ASKED
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At precisely ten o'clock, as the curtain came reefing slowly down upon the first act of I Pagliacci, Lady Dinsmore turned with outstretched hand to greet a newcomer who had just entered the box.
"My dear count," she exclaimed, "I am disappointed in you! Here I have been paying you really quite tremendous compliments to these young people—which for an old woman, you know, is very proper—and you show your complete indifference to me by committing the worst crime in the calendar!"