"I'm jolly glad."
"Well, here I am anyhow. Isn't life a topsy-turvy business? Who would have thought when we exchanged commonplaces on that boat a short time ago we should forgather like this in a lovely old Surrey house? Facts beat fiction all to bits. Fiction is commonplace, tame, prosy; but facts – real life – are interesting. Now, tell me about your experiences."
"Not yet. It's nearly dinner-time. I suppose you brought no evening clothes?"
Romanoff laughed. "As a matter of fact, I did. Of course, I was not sure you were here; but I thought you might be, so I took the liberty of – "
"Splendid," interrupted Dick. "There, the dressing-bell is ringing. I'll show you your room. My word, I'm awfully glad you've come. To tell you the truth, I was feeling a bit depressed."
"You depressed! I say! Fancy the heir of all this being depressed."
"But I was. The idea of spending the evening alone dismayed me. You see, a fellow can't be out every night, and – and there you are. But you've come."
"And no one will call to-night?"
"I don't expect so. Young Clavering, who is home on leave, might come over for a game of billiards, but I can't think of anyone else likely to turn up."
"Clavering – Clavering. I don't think I know the name."
"Oh, it is a good name in Surrey, I can assure you. It's a very old family, although I suppose it is frightfully poor. I've only met young Clavering once, but I liked him very much. Most of the young fellows around here are in the Army, and the older men are frightful old fossils. Here's your room. I hope you'll be comfortable."
Romanoff looked around the room with evident pleasure. He walked to the window and gazed steadily at the landscape; then he turned to Dick and gave him a keen, searching glance.
"You are a fortunate man, Faversham. Speaking as a Russian and also as one who has travelled all over the world, I say, commend me to England for comfort. Yes, I'll be all right, my friend."
When Dick had gone Romanoff threw himself in a chair and gazed into vacancy. A change passed over his face. He was no longer cheerful and pleasant; the old sinister, threatening look had come into his eyes, while his mouth was cruel. Once an expression swept over his features which suggested a kind of mocking pity, but it was only for a moment.
During dinner he was in a gay humour. Evidently he had thrown care to the winds, and lived for the pleasure of the moment. Dick found him fascinating. He talked pleasantly – at times brilliantly. His conversation scintillated with sardonic humour. He told stories about many countries. He related anecdotes about the Imperial House of the Romanoffs, and described the influence which Rasputin had on the Tzar and the Tzarina.
"I cannot understand it," remarked Dick after one of these stories.
"Understand what?"
"How a man like the Tzar could allow a dirty charlatan like Rasputin to have such influence. After all, Nicholas was an educated man, and a gentleman."
Romanoff laughed.
"As well Rasputin as the others," he replied.
"What others?"
"The priests of the Holy Orthodox Church. Let me give you a bit of advice, Faversham; keep clear of all this religious rot. It's true that you in England pretend to be more advanced than the poor Russians, but at bottom there's no difference. Wherever religion creeps in, it's the same story. Religion means credulity, and credulity means lies, oppression, cant, corruption."
"Did you meet Rasputin?"
"Oh yes," replied Romanoff, with a sigh of resignation. "On the whole, I admired him."
"I say, that's a bit too thick."
"Anyhow, the fellow was interesting. He had a philosophy of his own. He recognised the fact that the world was populated by fools, and he determined to make the most of his chances. He interpreted religion in a way that would give the greatest possible gratification to his senses. His policy was to suck the orange of the world dry. 'Salvation through sin,' eh?" and Romanoff laughed as he spoke. "Well, it's about the most sensible religion I ever heard of."
"It seems to me devilish and dirty," Dick spoke warmly.
"Nonsense, my dear fellow. Of course, all religion is foolishness – that is, religion as is usually understood. But if there is to be a religion at all, Rasputin got hold of the true one."
"You don't mean that?"
Romanoff looked at Dick steadily for a few seconds. He seemed to be thinking deeply as though he were trying to understand his man.
"Perhaps I don't," he admitted presently. "Sometimes one exaggerates in order to convey what is actually true. Still, there is a substratum of truth in the dirty monk's philosophy, as you'll find out before you are much older. By the way, the evening has turned cold, hasn't it?"
"Do you find it so? The air of a night is often cold in the early summer. Have you finished? Then we'll go into my little den where I always have a fire of an evening."
A few minutes later Romanoff was sprawling in a large easy-chair with his feet close to the fire.
"How long have you been here?" he asked.
"Not quite a month."
"Been well received by your neighbours?"
"On the whole, yes."
Again Romanoff looked steadily at his companion. "Will you forgive me if I ask you a few questions?"
"Certainly. Go ahead."
"First, then, how do you like being a rich man?"
Dick glanced around the room, and then gave a look towards the wide-spreading park-lands.
"How can one help liking it?" he asked.
"Exactly. You do not find money to be the root of all evil, then?"
"Heavens, no!"
"You would not like to be a poor man again?"
"What in the world are you driving at? Of course, the very thought of it is horrible."
"Just so. I am in my way a student of human nature, and I was a bit curious. Now for a second question. Who is she?"
"Oh, I say."
"Of course she exists."
"How do you know?"
"In my way I have the power of divination. When I look at a man I know something, not much perhaps, but something of his hopes. I felt sure before I spoke that you were in love. You've been quick about it, my young friend."
"I don't know that I am in love."
"Of course you are. Who is she?"
"There's no one. At least not yet. I don't suppose she's given me a second's thought."
"But you do. Is she young, beautiful? Is she rich, well connected?"
"Young! beautiful!" laughed Dick.
"Ah, I see. Not a rustic beauty, by any chance?"
"Rustic beauty, eh? There's nothing rustic about Lady Blanche Huntingford."
"Huntingford! That's one of the best known names in England."
"Do you know it?"
"Who doesn't? It's the biggest name in Debrett. But the Huntingfords are as poor as church mice."
"What does that matter?"
"You have enough for both, eh? Of course, that's your hope."
"Why?" and Dick turned rather sharply on his interlocutor.
"Oh, nothing personal, my friend. I'm only speaking from a long experience. The Huntingfords are poor and proud. I do not know of a more unpleasant combination. I've heard of Lady Blanche – she is about twenty-four, a great beauty, and so far has not succeeded in the marriage market. She's had several seasons in London, but the rich aristocrat has not turned up. That's why she may