It was the night of the great ball at Lady Merivale's town house. A Blue
Hungarian Band was playing dreamily the waltz of the season, to the
accompaniment of light laughter and gaily tripping feet. The scent of
roses filled the air. Masses of their great pink blooms lurked in every
small nook and corner; while in the centre of the room, half-hidden by
them, a fountain sent its silver spray into the heated air.
If wealth and luxury alone could bring happiness, then surely Eveline
Merivale should have been the most envied woman in the world. A renowned
beauty, a leader of fashion, with every wish and ambition
gratified--save the one which, at present, the chief object of her
life--to enslave and retain, as her exclusive property, Adrien Leroy.
Her husband, the Earl of Merivale, she regarded as a necessary
encumbrance, inevitable to the possession of the famous Merivale
diamonds. His hobby was farming, and he detested Society; though quite
content that his wife should be made queen so long as he was left in
peace with his shorthorns.
Certainly Eveline Merivale was not in love with her husband; but, on the
other hand, neither was she in love with Adrien Leroy. It simply added a
zest to her otherwise monotonous round of amusements to imagine that she
was; and it pleased her vanity to correspond in cypher, through the
medium of the Morning Post, though every member of her set might have
read the flippant messages if put in an open letter. There was a spice
of intrigue, too, in the way in which she planned meetings at their
mutual friends' houses, or beneath the trees of Brierly Park, or at
Richmond.
Not for worlds would her ladyship have risked a scandal. She prized her
position, and loved her diamonds far better than she was ever likely to
love any human being under the sun. Still, it was the fashion to have
one special favourite; and it was a great thing to have conquered the
handsome and popular Adrien Leroy. It was little wonder, therefore,
that, when midnight had struck and still Leroy was absent from her side,
Eveline Merivale beneath the calm conventional smile, was secretly
anxious and inclined to be angry.
She was looking her best to-night; and although she had already been
surfeited with compliments from duke to subaltern, she yet longed to
hear one other voice praise her appearance. There was, indeed, every
reason why Lady Merivale should be lauded as the greatest beauty of her
time, for she carried all before her by the sheer force of her
personality. Dazzlingly fair, with hair of a bronze Titian hue, which
clustered in great waves about her forehead; her eyes of a deep,
lustrous blue, shading almost to violet. To-night she would have borne
off the palm of beauty from any Court in the world, for her dress was a
creation of Paquin, and enhanced to perfection her delicate colouring,
which needed no artificial aids.
Diamonds glistened round her perfect throat, upon her head rested a
magnificent tiara of the same stones, her hands flashed as if touched
with living fire. She might have stood as a figure of Undine--as
beautiful and as soulless.
All around her the little band of courtiers thronged ever-changing, and
passing on to the ball-room as others eagerly took their place.
Half-past twelve struck, and she grew more impatient; the blue eyes
sparkled frostily, the red lips became more tightly set.
"Lady Merivale looks riled," Mortimer Shelton said to his partner as
they passed her. "You can see that by the sweetness of the smile with
which she has just favoured Hadley. She wishes him anywhere--I know.
Funny thing about you ladies! the madder you are with one poor
dev--fellow, the sweeter and deadlier you are to the rest of us."
His partner laughed; she was a bright little brunette, flushed with the
dance, and thoroughly happy.
"Why should we wear our hearts upon our sleeves for cynics such as you
to peck at?" she replied. "The art of dissembling is one of our few
privileges. But do you think the Countess is angry? She is so
beautiful."
"Marvellous!" exclaimed the cynic, raising his eyebrows. "Dear Lady
Chetwold, is it possible that I hear one beautiful woman praise
another's looks?"
The little lady flushed.
"It would be a greater marvel still if you men gave us credit for just a
_little_ generosity. But, tell me Mr. Shelton, where is Adrien Leroy?"
"My dear lady," said Shelton, with a wicked twinkle in his eyes, "if I
knew that Lady Merivale would be down on me like the proverbial load of
bricks. He was to have been here; but his movements are as uncertain as
her ladyship's smiles. See, she has fairly extinguished poor
Hadley--drowned in sweetness!"
"You are a horror," laughed his companion as the waltz came to an end.
"I shall be quite afraid of you in the future--I'd no idea you were so
cynical."
"I could never be cynical with _you_," he said gallantly. "By the way,
have you seen Prince Pfowsky to-night?"
"Yes," said Lady Chetwold, "I am engaged to him for the next dance--if
he remembers it. He is always so forgetful."
"'Put not your trust in princes,'" quoted Shelton. "But if his Highness
should be so ungrateful, perhaps you will allow me the pleasure----"
"Certainly not," she retorted brightly; "Cæsar or nothing!"
"And here he comes," laughed Mortimer; adding softly, as the Prince came
up to claim his partner, "and here is some one even more
interesting--look."
Lady Chetwold followed the direction of his gaze and saw Adrien Leroy
advancing up the rose-decked room. As usual, his appearance created
something like a stir, for he was popular with men and women alike, and
no smart gathering seemed quite complete without him. But the young man
appeared totally unconscious of the interest he was evoking as he bent
over his hostess's hand with a murmured greeting, then turned to make
his bow to the Prince, who, as firm an admirer as the rest of Society,
had paused to exchange a word before the dance commenced.
Adrien sank on to the velvet lounge beside the Countess.
"Don't scold me, belle amie," he said in his soft tones; "lay the blame
on Mr. Paxhorn. I dined with him at the club. You know what Paxhorn
is--there was simply no getting away. But, now, have you saved me a
dance?"
"You do not deserve one," she said, all the irritation melting beneath
the magic of his smile and the music of his voice.
"It's a mercy," he retorted lightly, "that one does not get all one's
deserts in this world!"
"I saved you the next," she said, giving him her programme. "You see, I
am as foolishly forgiving as ever."
"You are gracious and sweet!" he murmured in her ear. "How could you
ever be otherwise?"
The soft phrase passed unreproved.
"You have been down to Barminster again?" she inquired.
"Yes," he replied, as he settled himself more comfortably.
"You have been very attentive to your father lately," she said a little
suspiciously; "I thought filial affection was not the Leroys' strong
point."
"Nor is it," he said with a laugh; "but it is business, my dear Eveline,
odious business, into which Jasper inveigles me."
"I thought Mr. Vermont was the new machine that was to save you
trouble?"
"Yes, that's what I thought," was the languid reply. "But one has to
turn the handle, even of machines. There are signatures, and leases, and
Heaven knows what besides."
"How is Lord Barminster?" she inquired.
"Splendid."
"Lady Constance also well?"--with the slightest tinge of restraint in
her voice.
"Yes," he answered indifferently; adding, "but you haven't asked after
'King Cole.'"
"Ah, no, but you would have told me at first if anything had been wrong
with him."
Leroy smiled. He knew that to be true.
"He will win, you think?" she asked anxiously.
"Oh, yes!" was the careless reply. "Vermont says there is nothing to
touch him."
The countess raised her eyebrows.
"You trust this Vermont with a great deal, Adrien. Your horses, your
wine, and your legal business. He must be a wonderful man."
"Yes," he answered confidently. "Jasper's a treasure. Nothing comes
amiss to him. I should be in my grave if I had to face half the worries
he wrestles with daily. Come," he added, as the first bars of the new
waltz floated from the gallery; and with a sigh of enjoyment she rose
for the promised dance.
"No one's step suits me like yours," she breathed, when they paused for
rest. "Adrien, shall I back 'King Cole' for another two hundred?"
The two sentences were, perhaps, rather incongruous, but curiously
characteristic of her ladyship; for, in addition to a natural love of
intrigue, she had a partiality for betting on the turf and speculation
on 'Change--both, of course, sub rosa.
"Oh, yes," he said, as they started again. "Jasper has put two thousand
more of mine on to-day. There he is," he broke off, as the sleek,
carefully dressed figure of Mr. Vermont entered the ball-room.
"Talk of angels," murmured Lady Merivale, but with a glance implying
that she meant a being very far removed from that celestial grade.
Jasper Vermont did not excel at dancing; yet, strange to say, he was
invariably invited to every big function of the season. Indeed, the
hostesses of Mayfair would almost as soon have omitted the name of
Adrien Leroy himself as that of his friend.
It was difficult to explain this other than on account of his engaging
amiability. Probably Vermont would have transformed the famous advice of
Uriah Heep to "Always be obliging." Certainly, no pleasanter company
could be found, whether for man or woman; whatever the hour, however
mixed the company, Jasper Vermont had always a smile, a jest, or a new
and piquant scandal. In the smoking-room he would rival Mortimer Shelton
in apparently good-natured cynicism. In a duchess's boudoir he would
enliven the afternoon tea hour with the neatest of epigrams and the
spiciest slander of her Grace's dearest friend. Nothing came amiss to
him; as Adrien Leroy had once said, he was "a walking encyclopædia."
Yet with all Mr. Vermont's charm of manner, he could resent, smiling
still, an impertinence or a snub, and deal back a tongue thrust that
would effectually put his opponent hors de combat. Truly of him might be
quoted, "I smile, and murder while I smile."
To-night he was apparently enjoying the gay scene before him. His sharp
black eyes were like little snakes, darting here, there, and everywhere,
while he wagged his smooth head to the time of the music, as if in keen
enjoyment.
Mortimer Shelton noticed him; "gloating over his future victims," he
commented, almost audibly, as he and his partner passed close to where
he was standing. Vermont, however, apparently did not hear him, but
continued to smile, amiably as the dancers whirled by.
It was nearly daybreak when the carriages drew up outside the great
house to take the guests to their respective homes; and, having
successfully steered a young marchioness into her electric brougham,
Leroy found himself standing close to Vermont, not far from where his
own motor awaited him.
"They call this pleasure, Jasper," he said, almost scornfully, watching
the struggling, aristocratic crowd with a half-contemptuous smile on his
lips. "Why, it's hard work. They fight and push for the sake of a few
hours spent in a crowded, poisoned room; and there's no prophet to rise
up and proclaim it madness."
"No," laughed Vermont cynically; "prophets nowadays have no liking for
being stoned; and, after all, life would be unendurable, were it not for
its pleasures. Let me remind you that it is nearly four o'clock, and you
are due at Lord Standon's rooms."
With a sigh Leroy turned and jumped into the motor, followed by his
faithful squire; and the powerful car hooted its way through the
twilight of the dawn.
They reached Lord Standon's chambers, to find the finish of a theatre
party. The room was filled with beautiful women, mostly stars of the
musical comedy stage, including Ada Lester, who was evidently on her
best behaviour.
Here, amidst light and laughter, the goddess of pleasure was being feted
by her youthful worshippers, and none appeared a more eager votary than
Adrien Leroy. Yet, as he stood, champagne glass in hand, propounding the
toast of the evening--or rather morning, for the dawn was breaking in
the sky--there was none to tell him of the impending cloud of treachery
that hung over his head. None who dare warn him to beware of the
friendship of--Mr. Jasper Vermont.