“Oh no, it doesn’t,” she declared. “I have seen so many like it. And I have read so many novels on just the same theme! I assure you, I am quite convinced that the so-called ‘bad’ woman is the only popular type with men. She gets all the enjoyment possible out of life, she frequently makes an excellent marriage. It is quite a mistake for women to be respectable, – they are dull.”
“Ah, now you are only joking!” I said with an indulgent smile. “You know that in your heart you think very differently!”
She made no answer, as just then the curtain went up again. At that very instant she turned to me and said,
“You are the famous Mr. Tempest, are you not?”
“Famous?” I echoed with a deep sense of gratification. “Well, I am scarcely that, yet! My book is not published.”
Her eyebrows arched themselves surprisedly.
“Your book? I did not know you had written one. When I asked if you were the famous Mr. Tempest, I meant to say were you the great millionaire.”
I bowed.
“How delightful it must be for you to have so much money!” she said. “And you are young too, and good-looking.”
I smiled.
“You are very kind, Lady Sibyl!”
“Why?” she asked laughing, such a delicious low laugh. “Because I tell you the truth? You are young and you are good-looking! Millionaires are generally such appalling creatures. And now tell me about your book!”
The performance was over. We all left the box together. Lucio and I raised our hats in farewell, and the Elton equipage rolled away. As we drove off, Lucio peered inquisitively at me and said,
“Well?”
I was silent.
“Don’t you admire her?” he went on. “I must confess she is cold, but snow often covers volcanoes! She has good features, and a naturally clear complexion.”
“She is perfectly beautiful,” – I said emphatically. “The dullest eyes must see that. There is not a fault to be found with her. And she is wise and cold.”
“Geoffrey, there are no obstacles in the way of your wooing and winning her, if such is your desire. Geoffrey Tempest, millionaire, will be a welcome suitor. Poor Lord Elton’s affairs are in a bad way – he is almost ruined. The American woman who is boarding with him…”
“Boarding with him!” I exclaimed.
Lucio laughed heartily.
“The Earl and Countess of Elton give the prestige of their home and protection to Miss Diana Chesney, the American, for the trifling sum of two thousand guineas per annum.”
“What a state!” I said, half angrily.
“Geoffrey, my friend, you are really amazingly inconsistent! Six weeks ago, what were you? A mere poor scribbler. Now, as millionaire, you think contemptuously of an Earl, because he is boarding an American heiress and launching her into society where she would never get without him. And you aspire, or probably mean to aspire to the hand of the Earl’s daughter, as if you yourself were a descendant of kings!”
“My father was a gentleman,” I said, with hauteur, “and a descendant of gentlemen. We were never common folk.”
Lucio smiled.
“I do not doubt it, my dear fellow. But a simple ‘gentleman’ is below – or above – an Earl. Which side will you choose? It really doesn’t matter nowadays. You occupy a good position, since you have money. And you do not know how it was made.”
“True!” I answered meditatively. Then, with a sudden flash of recollection I added,
“By the way I never told you that my deceased relative imagined that he had sold his soul to the devil, and that this vast fortune of his was the material result!”
Lucio laughed.
“No! Not possible!” he exclaimed derisively. “What an idea! Imagine any sane man believing in a devil! Ha, ha, ha! Well, well! The folly of human imaginations will never end! Here we are!”
He sprang lightly out as the brougham stopped at the Grand Hotel.
9
It was a fine frosty evening. At about eleven o’clock, we went to the private gambling club to which my companion had volunteered to introduce me as a guest. It was situated at the end of a mysterious little back street, and was an unpretentious looking house enough outside. But within, it was sumptuously though tastelessly furnished. A woman with painted eyes and dyed hair received us. Her looks and manner proclaimed her as one of those ‘pure’ ladies with a ‘past’ who are represented as such martyrs to the vices of men. Lucio said something to her apart, – whereupon she glanced at me deferentially and smiled. Then rang the bell. A discreet man-servant in sober black made his appearance. We trod on a carpet of the softest felt. I noticed that everything was rendered as noiseless as possible in this establishment.
On the upper landing, the servant knocked very cautiously at a side-door. A key turned in the lock, and we were admitted into a long double room, very brilliantly lit with lamps. It was crowded with men playing at rouge et noir and baccarat[20]. Some looked up as Lucio entered and nodded smilingly, others glanced inquisitively at me, but our entrance was otherwise scarcely noticed.
Lucio drew me along by the arm, sat down to watch the play. I followed his example. I recognized the faces of many well-known public men, men eminent in politics and society. But I betrayed no sign of surprise, and quietly observed the games and the gamesters. I was prepared to play and to lose. But I was not prepared however for the strange scene which soon occurred.
10
As soon as the game was finished, the players rose, and greeted Lucio with eagerness and effusion. I instinctively guessed from their manner that they looked upon him as an influential member of the club, a person to lend them money to gamble with. He introduced me to them all, and I perceived the effect my name had upon most of them. I was asked if I would join in a game of baccarat, and I readily consented. The stakes were ruinously high, but I had no need to falter for that. One of the players near me was a fair-haired young man, handsome in face. He had been introduced to me as Viscount Lynton. When he lost, as he mostly did, he laughed uproariously as though he were drunk or delirious. Lucio did not join us, but sat apart, quietly observant, and watching me. All the luck came my way, and I won steadily. The more I won the more excited I became, till presently my humour changed and I was seized by a whimsical desire to lose. I wished this for young Lynton’s sake. He seemed literally maddened by my constant winnings, and continued his foolhardy and desperate play. His eyes glittered with a hungry feverishness. The other gamesters concealed their feelings more cleverly. Again and again I gathered up the stakes, till at last the players rose, Viscount Lynton among them.
“Well, I’ve lost everything!” he said, with a loud laugh. “You must give me my chance of a revanche tomorrow, Mr. Tempest!”
I bowed.
“With pleasure!”
He called a waiter at the end of the room to bring him a brandy and soda, and meanwhile I was surrounded by the rest of the men, all of them repeating the Viscount’s suggestion of a ‘revanche,’ and strenuously urging upon me the necessity of returning to the club the next night. I readily agreed, and while we were in the midst of talk, Lucio suddenly addressed young Lynton.
“Will you make up another game with me?” he inquired. “I’ll start the bank with this,” – and he placed two notes of five hundred pounds each on the table.
There was a moment’s silence. The Viscount was thirstily drinking his brandy-and-soda, and glanced at the notes with covetous bloodshot eyes. Then he shrugged his shoulders indifferently.
“I can’t stake anything,” he said; “I’ve already