Mrs L'Estrange was evidently a great believer in light: the electric
bulbs glowed softly, but brilliantly, over the two rooms devoted to the
service of the card-players.
On the sideboards were arranged decanters of whisky, and soda-water in
bottles and syphons. Whether he lost or won, the gambler, triumphant or
despairing, could quaff to his success, or solace his despair.
The elderly, youthfully-dressed woman advanced towards the new visitors,
with a beaming expression of countenance.
"Mr Spencer, you will join us. What is your favourite game?"
"Bridge," said Spencer, shortly. He was already a bit in love with
Stella Keane, but he was by no means favourably inclined to her gushing,
elderly cousin.
He soon formed a party of four, and became absorbed, for the moment, in
the game. Tommy Esmond was playing the same game, at a table some
distance from him. Tommy was not supposed to be wealthy, but he
evidently had money enough to indulge in a quiet gamble now and then.
He remembered every incident of that night. His partner was a
subordinate member of the Government, and a good sound player, lacking a
little perhaps in the qualities of initiative and rapid decision. His
opponents were a young man in the Foreign Office, and a slender,
hawk-nosed young woman of about thirty.
All through he held abominable cards, but, truth to tell, he was not
very interested in the game. Whether he won or lost a hundred pounds
did not interest him very greatly.
But what did interest him, to every fibre of his being, was that Stella
Keane hovered about his table. His eyes continually sought hers, and
she did not seem to avoid his glance. At times he was sure he could
detect a slight smile of intimacy. After all, had he not rescued her,
half dead with fright, in the dining-room of the "Excelsior?"
Once she bent over him and whispered, her cool, fragrant breath fanning
his cheek: "You are having shocking bad luck. You haven't held a single
decent card."
He whispered back: "What did I tell you a little time ago? I flatter
myself I am a fairly good bridge-player, but what could one do with
those cards of mine?"
She fluttered away, with still the shadow of that intimate smile upon
her beautiful mouth, the smile that seemed to say they had only known
each other for a few hours, under romantic and dramatic circumstances,
but there was between them an affinity of spirit.
He played on steadily for over an hour, and then a halt was cried. The
young gentleman from the Foreign Office and the hawk-nosed young woman
had scored. Guy Spencer rose from the table, the poorer by a hundred
and fifty pounds. He wrote his cheque with a light heart. A hundred
and fifty pounds was not a great price to pay for the introduction to
Stella Keane.
Mrs L'Estrange came impressively towards him.
"Oh, Mr Spencer, I hope you have not lost. If so, I fear you will
never come near me again." His glance roved in the direction of Stella,
talking, as it appeared earnestly, to that bounder of a cousin. There
came a steely look into his clear, resolute eyes.
"If you will allow me, I shall be delighted to come here often to see
you and Miss Keane. I suppose I had better pick up my old friend Tommy
Esmond, if he is not too engrossed." But when he approached Esmond,
that little rotund gentleman waved him away, in most genial fashion.
"Run away, dear boy. It is Eclipse first, and the rest nowhere. I am
winning hands down." Certainly he bore the mien of a conqueror. And
there, behind his chair, stood Stella Keane.
She welcomed Spencer with that faint, intimate smile which had already
stirred his pulses.
"I fear I brought you bad luck," she said, in her low, caressing voice.
"But to Mr Esmond I have been the harbinger of good fortune. Are you
really going?"
"I always go when I have won enough, or lost enough. You remember I
gave you a little homily on gambling generally, not so long ago."
She took her hand off Esmond's chair. "Well, I will leave my good
influence behind, and look after the parting guest."
She walked leisurely with him in the direction of the hall. It was
deserted, but the light was brilliant, as it was in every other corner
of the flat.
She held out her hand impulsively. "Mr Spencer, I have not thanked you
properly for your kindness to me to-night. Terror-stricken, paralysed
with fear, I should have been clinging to that chair now, if you had not
rescued me in time. How can I thank you?"
Spencer laughed lightly. "One would think from your excessive gratitude
that you had not experienced a great deal of kindness in your life. And
yet that would be impossible." She flushed a little; his gaze was
perhaps more full of admiration, of frank and open compliment than could
be justified by the briefness of their acquaintance. And yet it only
expressed what he was inwardly thinking.
Here was a girl who had only to look at her mirror to learn she was
endowed with singular beauty. She must also know that she combined with
her more than ordinary fairness an unusual charm of manner.
How had it come about that one with such striking qualifications should
exhibit a certain underlying sadness, as if the world had already proved
a very disappointing place? Youth and good looks usually secure for
their owner a good time. Girls with half her attractions could find
plenty of admirers. What evil fate dogged her that she had to regard a
perfectly common act of kindness as something to be exceptionally
grateful for?
"I have never been petted nor spoiled, even as a child," she answered
gravely. "My father and mother were ignorant of the duties, as they
were of the instincts, of parenthood. And since my poor pretence of a
home was broken up, I have been a derelict and a wanderer, sometimes a
tolerated guest, rarely, I fear, a very welcome one in the houses of
other people."
"But you are happy here, surely?" he suggested. After saying so much,
she could hardly regard the question as an impertinent one. He longed
to hear her history. Well, if he came and cultivated her, and let her
see how sympathetic he could be, one day she would tell him.
She shrugged her shoulders with an air of indifference.
"My cousin is peculiar in many ways, and her devotion to play is an
obsession. We have very little in common; still, it would not be fair
to say she was difficult to get on with. I have been with her now for
more than eighteen months, and although we have often held totally
different opinions, I cannot remember that we have ever had a real
quarrel. And, anyway, it is a home and a shelter, and that is
something."
Not much enthusiasm here, certainly. Mrs L'Estrange had been dismissed
with a very negative kind of faint praise. Her excellence seemed to lie
rather in the absence of bad qualities than the possession of good ones.
And yet, he could not bring himself to believe that Miss Keane was an
ill-natured girl, or of an unresponsive temperament. He had to admit
that his impressions of his hostess were not too favourable.
She was outwardly genial, and at times gushing. Yet he fancied he could
read behind this plausible exterior the signs of a hard, worldly nature.
There was no softness in her glance, no tenderness in her rather hard,
staccato tones.
A girl with those glorious eyes, and mobile face, with the delicate
complexion that flushed and paled by turns, must surely be sweet and
sympathetic, and responsive to affection. How her voice had thrilled
with emotion when she thanked him. If she was disappointed in her
cousin, it must be the fault of the elder woman, who could not give what
was demanded by the younger and more ardent temperament.
He would have lingered longer, trying to pierce the riddle from these
disjointed remarks, but they were interrupted by Tommy Esmond, who came
bustling into the hall, flushed with victory.
"Never had such luck in my life. Just wiped the floor with them," he
explained excitedly. "You left your good influence behind, Miss Keane.
A few minutes sufficed for victory."
"I am very glad, but I think my powers for good must be very limited,
for I brought bad luck to your friend," was her smiling rejoinder.
He turned briskly to the young man. "It is a perfect night, Spencer.
Shall we walk down to the Club to get a breath of fresh air, and turn in
there for a quiet smoke?"
Spencer nodded assent, and held out his hand to Miss Keane.
"Well, good-bye for the present."
"And I hope you will come and see us again soon. Don't wait for Mr
Esmond to bring you: after our thrilling experiences of to-night, we are
more than ordinary acquaintances. We are at home nearly every night, if
you want to gamble. And, if you would like a little rational chat
instead, come in one afternoon to tea."
"Thanks, I will. My card-playing fit has passed for a little time.
Once again, good-bye."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
And, as soon as they were in the street, Esmond burst in with the
question he was longing to ask.
"Well, what do you think of her? Did I exaggerate?"
"Not in the least," answered Spencer, speaking less seriously than he
felt, he did not quite know for what reason, unless it was that with a
man of his friend's calibre, he always had a tendency to discuss things
lightly. "No, I don't think you have exaggerated a bit this time; so
many of your swans have been geese, but this is a real swan, at last.
She is very lovely; even in her terror she looked beautiful, and she has
a peculiar, elusive charm. She makes you want to know more of her, and
penetrate the mystery which seems to hover around her."
"I can't say I see any mystery, myself." Esmond spoke rather sharply,
for such a good-natured little man.
"Perhaps it is too strong a word. But I take it, you know something of
the _menage_, and can enlighten me on one point. What is her position
there: paid companion, a passing guest, or does she share the flat with
her cousin on some sort of terms?"
It was a little time before Esmond answered. "I have never rightly got
at that myself. Sometimes I have thought one thing, sometimes another.
But I am pretty sure she is poor: in fact, she has admitted as much."
"Poverty is relative after all, and it depends on how she was brought
up. She seems to dress well, and that cannot be done without money."
Yes, Esmond admitted that she was turned out well. But he either could
not, or would not express any positive opinion upon the delicate subject
of Miss Keane's finances.
"Does she ever play? She didn't touch a card while we were there, only
flitted about from table to table."
No, Esmond had never seen her play since he had frequented the house.
It was clear, therefore, she did not make any pocket-money out of
gambling. He had to admit that she seemed to act as deputy hostess,
and, he believed, wrote most of her cousin's notes; in other words, made
herself useful.
All this information, such as it was, he imparted, as it seemed to
Spencer, with some reluctance. Perhaps his keen admiration prompted him
to hide anything that served to show her in a dependent position. And
Spencer desisted from any further cross-examination on this head.
On one point, however, he was determined to elicit a positive expression
of opinion from the cautious little man.
"What is the mystery of the bounder cousin? You must admit he has cad
stamped all over him, his speech, his person, his gestures."
Tommy could establish no defence for the gentleman in question. "No, he
is past criticism, I allow. The result of some _mesalliance_, I
suppose; his mother a very common person doubtless. But then, many
highly respectable people have skeletons like that in their cupboards."
"The mystery is that he finds his way, cousin as he may be, into any
decent house. Mrs L'Estrange we know to be a woman of good family.
You would think she would lock and bolt the door against a creature like
that. What is he supposed to be, if he has any profession beyond that
of his intense bounderism?"
"Something in the City, I am told," replied Esmond shortly. "Something
connected with finance; stockbroker or something."
"It must be a shady kind of finance, if he has anything to do with it,"
growled the young man. "To think of his claiming relationship with that
exquisite girl."