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“That is—nothing much,” he went on. “Only—I’m giving a little dinner party to-night. A birthday party, as a matter of fact. I’d like to have you come. One of my guests will be my partner in the mine. We can talk over that little matter of business.”
“Hardly the time, or the place,” I suggested.
This was like him. A gay party—plenty to eat and drink—and my affair hastily disposed of amid the general conviviality. I was not to be trapped like that.
“Well, perhaps not,” he admitted. “We won’t talk business, then. Just a gay little party—to brighten up the old house—to get things going in a friendly way again. Eh, Carlotta?”
“Oh, of course,” said Carlotta Drew wearily.
“You’ll come?” the old man insisted. I have often wondered since why he was so eager. He had wronged me, he
