e
best glasses that could be procured.

"Here's luck!" Burton exclaimed, jauntily. "Can't drink much myself.
This bubbly stuff never did agree with me and I had a good go at it
last night."

Maud filled up his glass, nevertheless, touched it with her own, and
drank, looking at him all the time with an expression in her eyes upon
which she was wont to rely.

"Take me out to-night, dear," she whispered. "I feel just like having a
good time to-night. Do!"

Burton suddenly threw his glass upon the floor. The wine ran across the
carpet in a little stream. Splinters of the glass lay about in all
directions. They all three looked at him, transfixed.

"I am sorry," he said.

He turned and walked out of the room. They were all too astonished to
stop him. They heard him cross the bar-room and they heard the door
close as he passed into the street.

"Of all the extraordinary things!" Maud declared.

"Well, I never!" Milly gasped.

"If Mr. Burton calls that behaving like a gentleman--" Maud continued,
in a heated manner--Mr. Waddington patted her on the shoulder.

"Hush, hush, my dear!" he said. "Between ourselves, Burton has been
going it a bit lately. There's no doubt that he's had a drop too much
to drink this afternoon. Don't take any notice of him. He'll come
round all right. I can understand what's the matter with him. You mark
my words, in two or three days he'll be just his old self."

"Has he come into a fortune, or what?" Maud demanded. "He's left you,
hasn't he?"

Mr. Waddington nodded.

"He's found a better job," he admitted. "Kind of queer in his health,
though. I've been taken a little like it myself, but those sort of
things pass off--they pass off."

Milly looked at him curiously. He was suddenly quiet.

"Why, you're looking just like Mr. Burton did a few minutes ago!" she
declared. "What's the matter with you? Can you see ghosts?" Mr.
Waddington sat quite still. "Yes," he muttered, "I see ghosts!"

They looked at him in a puzzled manner. Then Milly leaned towards him
and filled his glass with Wine. She touched his glass with her own, she
even suffered her arm to rest upon his shoulder. For a single moment
Mr. Waddington appeared to feel some instinct of aversion. He seemed
almost about to draw away. Then the mood passed. He drew her towards
him with a little burst of laughter, and raised his glass to his lips.

"Here's fun!" he exclaimed. "Poor old Burton!"

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE REAL AL