He told her this, and she sighed regretfully, as one amazed at the obstinacy of a certain type of man. She knew, could she once have got him to accept this loan, she would be sure of him.
“You see, it is quite impossible,” he ended, rather awkwardly. It is not a pleasant thing to refuse the kindness thrust upon you in the most graceful way by a charming woman. “Do you happen to know of any of these sharks?”
Frustrated in her clever little scheme, the fair Violet reflected for a few seconds. Then she spoke in a hesitating voice, as if she were trying to recall certain memories of the past.
“Yes, I do know a man who, I believe, is a decent specimen of his kind. You know, a lot of people wonder that Jack was so well-off. Well, in the first place, he was awfully clever, and he had two or three good friends in the City who gave him tips. But he wanted a bit of capital. He found out this man Jackson, who has offices in Dover Street. Jackson believed in him, and financed him, of course taking a good share. That was only natural.”
Rossett pricked up his ears. The thing that had puzzled so many people was already partly explained. Jack had been, as his wife said, a clever fellow, and a bit of a dark horse. He had been making money in the City in a subterranean way, with the help of the philanthropic Mr Jackson, who, no doubt, had looked after his own share of the profits. But why the deuce had not Jack Hargrave told this openly to his intimates? Then all innuendos and suspicions would have been silenced at once.
Mrs Hargrave went on in her sweet, low voice. “I don’t think I have ever told this to a soul. You will respect my confidence. I always thought it a little silly of Jack, but he made a point of keeping the secret to himself.”
“Need you ask the question?” queried Guy Rossett reproachfully.
“No, I am sure I can trust you. Well, this man Jackson; by the way, that is not his real name, he is a naturalised Spaniard. I see him sometimes on a few matters in which he is still interested, and which he looks after for me. I will give you a note to him, and ask him to treat you very gently.”
But, before she moved to her writing-table, she again looked pleadingly at him.
“Are you sure you will not reconsider my suggestion? Surely you would rather be indebted to me than to a mere sordid moneylender?”
Again Guy repeated his thanks. But on this point he was adamant; nothing would move him.
He took the letter of introduction to Mr Jackson. This gentleman was affability itself. Mrs Hargrave’s introduction was quite sufficient. Guy was too much a gentleman to put searching questions as to Jackson’s private knowledge of the Hargraves, husband and wife.
On his side, Mr Jackson had the private dossier of every eligible young man, from the moneylender’s point of view, entered in his reference book. He knew all about the Earl of Saxham, and the Lady Henrietta. Young Mr Rossett was quite a desirable client. He was pleased to add him to his list.
As a matter of fact, the loan was quite a small one, and was granted on reasonable terms. There was no speculative element in the transaction. Guy was a young man who might make a mistake now and again, but he would never kick over the traces for long, and he was as straight as a die.
On this particular morning, Mr Jackson received him with the greatest affability.
“Delighted to see you, Mr Rossett. Too early for a drink, I am afraid, but have a cigar.”
He pushed across a box of cigars that even a Spanish Jew could not have bought under half a crown apiece.
“Now, what is it, Mr Rossett? Just a little more ready, I suppose?”
Guy bit off the end of the very excellent cigar with a composed air. He had not the appearance of a suppliant for financial favours.
“Not quite as bad as that, Mr Jackson. But I have a bill for six hundred due next month. It would be a great convenience to me if you would renew half when it falls due, of course on the usual terms.”
For a moment, Mr Jackson’s face fell. He had hoped he was going to get deeper into the young man’s ribs, looking forward to that blessed day when Lady Henrietta’s fortune would wipe off all arrears.
Then, the next moment, he cheered up. Guy was not going to be a very big customer, but he was a safe one. A young man who could pay off half of his indebtedness was to be trusted. Not much waiting, just quick profits.
It took them a few moments to discuss the details of the extension of the loan. When these had been settled, Mr Jackson consulted his watch.
“I think, Mr Rossett, we might venture upon a small bottle now, what do you think?”
Guy really did not want anything to drink at this comparatively early hour of the morning. But, in view of further favours, it would not be politic to check his host’s hospitable impulses.
The moneylender produced a very excellent small bottle of veuve cliquot. The two men sat chatting for some time. Suddenly, the telephone bell rang.
What was whispered down it seemed to agitate Mr Jackson a little. Rossett could, of course, only catch his disjointed replies.
“Actually left the house, you say, on the way. Ought always to give me notice. Might be too busy. Well, it can’t be helped. Good-bye.”
As a matter of fact, it was Mrs Hargrave’s maid who had rung up to tell him that her mistress was on her way to his office. He knew enough to be sure that a meeting between Violet and Rossett would be very disturbing to both, hence his discomfiture.
Mount Street to Dover Street in a taxi is not a very far cry. If Guy Rossett did not swallow his champagne and clear out in a few seconds, the meeting was inevitable. The only apartments were the outer office, the waiting-room, and his own sanctum, and they all led into each other.
Guy, not being thirsty, drank his wine very leisurely. Then he rose to go, but some minutes had elapsed, and at the moment he rose the office boy brought in a slip of folded paper, on which was written Mrs Hargrave’s name.
“Many thanks for meeting me in this little matter, Mr Jackson. Well, for the present, good-bye.” And poor Guy Rossett, fondly thinking that he had laid the ghosts of the past, emerged from Jackson’s room to be confronted with Violet Hargrave, seated in one of those luxurious easy chairs which the hospitable foreigner provided for his waiting clients.
He put the best face he could on the situation, and advanced with outstretched hand.
“An unexpected pleasure, Mrs Hargrave,” he cried in a very uncertain voice. A more embarrassed specimen of a budding diplomatist could not have been observed.
The pretty widow ignored the outstretched hand. She looked at him steadily, and the blue eyes were no longer soft and limpid, but hard as steel.
“I think,” she said in a voice that was as hard as her glance, “you are indulging in the language of diplomacy, which is usually used to disguise one’s real thoughts.”
Rossett turned red, and began, in his agitation, to stammer forth lame and foolish excuses.
“I have been awfully busy lately, you know, not had time for anything in the social line. The truth is, Mrs Hargrave, I have just woke up to the fact that I have been wasting a good part of my life. I am really going in now for work, hard work, and ambition.”
She swept him with a contemptuous glance.
“Is this supposed to be an apology for your despicable conduct as regards myself?”
“As you please to take it, Mrs Hargrave.” Knowing he was utterly in the wrong, he took refuge in a sort of sullen dignity.
Her voice grew more scornful as she answered in her clear, vibrant tones.
“I should not like to detain you even for a moment, when you have such a laudable object in view. If you are going to atone for those wasted years, you