About five o'clock on the afternoon of the day following Esmond's
confession, Guy Spencer rang the bell at Mrs L'Estrange's flat in
Elsinore Gardens.
The decorous-looking butler opened the door. He seemed to wear a sad
and chastened demeanour, as if overborne with the tragic events of the
previous night. Of course, all servants know what is going on in the
house of their employers. A scandal such as this must have quickly
penetrated to them.
"Is Mrs L'Estrange at home?"
The sad-faced butler answered at once; he could tell a lie with as much
grace as anybody, but here there was no need to lie.
"Mrs L'Estrange is at home, sir, in a manner of speaking, but she is
very ill, as a matter of fact in bed. Of course she cannot see any
visitors."
"Oh, I quite understand," said Spencer hastily. "Is Miss Keane in? If
so, I would like to see her for a few moments."
The melancholy man in black opened the door a few inches. "Miss Keane
is in, sir, but I am afraid she is not very well, either. Will you
kindly step in, sir, and I will find out if she can see you?"
It was evident that Tommy Esmond and his equally nefarious partner had
cast a gloom over the whole establishment. Spencer was ushered into the
pretty drawing-room. In a few moments, Stella Keane came in. She was
evidently under the stress of great emotion. There were dark shadows
round the eyes, as if she had passed a sleepless night. Even her
perfect mouth had a listless droop.
But, in spite of her pallor, the dark shadows round her eyes, and that
pathetic droop, she was still very beautiful. Pathos became her. Guy
Spencer's heart gave a great leap as he saw her. There was about her an
overpowering, an irresistible fascination.
She advanced towards him with outstretched hands. She spoke in a broken
voice, the perfectly moulded lips trembled:
"It is so sweet of you to come. Of course you have heard? It is all
over the town by now. Oh, this thrice-accursed gambling, the love of
which induces decent men to cheat, and become outcasts from their
world."
She spoke with the deepest emotion, her bosom heaving, her voice broken
by the catchings of the breath.
"He was such a good little man, he was always so kind to me," she went
on. "And last night those awful happenings. Branded a cheat, he and
his friend, and they could not deny it. They had to slink out. I have
hardly closed my eyes during the night, Mr Spencer; my poor cousin is
prostrated." She added with a shudder: "My girlhood was passed amidst a
gambling set, but I never had an experience like this."
She collected herself, and rang for tea. "You will sit down," she said.
"You can understand I should have denied myself to anybody but you, I
am so terribly upset. It is still like a nightmare."
Spencer sat down as he was bidden. "I had a visit from Esmond last
night," he said briefly. "He came straight on from Elsinore Gardens.
He told me what had happened, he told me the whole history of the
terrible thing, how he has been making his living by cheating at cards,
since he was a young man." Miss Keane raised her hands in mute
deprecation. "How awful! That, of course, I did not know. I had a
letter from him this morning, apologising, if one can apologise for such
a thing, telling me he was going to live abroad under an assumed name.
It was a very short letter. His chief concern seemed to be that he had,
incidentally, made it unpleasant for Mrs L'Estrange."
"How does Mrs L'Estrange take it?"
Miss Keane shrugged her shoulders. "She is a little bit hysterical, you
know. One moment, she vows she will shut up the flat and go abroad, for
fear of the nasty things that people will say. The next moment, she
says that, confident in her perfect innocence, she will stay and face
the music, and give her parties as usual."
"Has she asked your advice?" queried Spencer.
"She has, and my advice is to go on as usual. It is not her fault that
blacklegs have crept into her circle. They creep into the best houses,
the best clubs. So long as this cursed gambling goes on, there will be
sharpers."
"That's true," remarked Spencer, remembering a few episodes that had
occurred in his time. "And, I suppose, you will still cast in your lot
with her?"
The look on the beautiful face grew more pathetic than ever.
"What can I do, Mr Spencer? I have told you my position. I wish my
cousin were a different woman altogether, I wish she were not so
infatuated with this horrible gambling. But I cannot influence her.
She is too old and set to turn over a new leaf."
Every moment the girl's fascination took a deeper hold of him. She was
so very beautiful, so very seductive. But he still kept himself in
check.
"Tell me what actually happened last night. How were Esmond and his
partner found out?"
There was a little interruption by the solemn-faced butler who brought
in tea. Miss Keane busied herself amongst the cups before she replied.
"It is, as I told you, all a nightmare to me. I was wandering aimlessly
about; as I have told you before, I never play, I loathe cards too much.
Suddenly there was a scene at the table where Mr Esmond and his
partner were playing. Three men were standing watching the game, they
had come here often, I knew their names."
"They were friends of Mrs L'Estrange?" queried Spencer.
Just a faint shade of hesitation crept into the low voice.
"Oh yes, friends of my cousin."
"Straight sort of chaps, of course."
"I have no doubt of that. They accused Mr Esmond and his partner,
Major Golightly, of cheating. Of course the charge was denied, but very
half-heartedly. These three men were backed by others who had seen
something suspicious. It seems Mr Esmond and his partner had aroused
suspicion before. Finally they confessed, and slunk out of the house."
She paused a moment, and then laid her hand impulsively on his arm.
"That first night you came to our house, you lost. Did you play at the
same table with Tommy Esmond? I forget."
The answer came straight. "No, I lost something, what was it?--
something about a hundred and fifty. But Tommy Esmond did not rook me
that time, he was playing at another table. I remember he was very
cock-a-hoop, he was winning hand over fist. I say, I know I am putting
a very impertinent question, but were Tommy Esmond and his partner, this
Major Golightly, the only sharpers who came to this flat? Did I lose my
hundred and fifty, or whatever it was, quite honestly?"
Miss Keane covered her face with her hands for a few seconds, and when
she took them away, he could see that tears were slowly trickling down
her cheeks.
"Heaven knows, Mr Spencer, I don't. My cousin is a strange woman. She
is fond of gaiety, of excitement. She asks people about whom she knows
nothing to her flat, I think," she added with an hysterical laugh; "she
fancies she is making herself a queen of Society. If she can get her
rooms full that is all she wants. When she does that, she fancies
herself the Duchess."
"I think I understand," said Spencer gravely. "And I take it you would
give heaven and earth to get out of this environment?"
"If you only knew how I loathe it," she cried, in a fervent tone.
"Sometimes I think I would rather run away and be a shopgirl or a
waitress, to get rid of this horrible atmosphere."
Guy Spencer was very perturbed. He rose and walked up and down the
room--it was his habit to walk about, even in confined spaces, when he
was in an emotional mood.
At length he turned, and faced her squarely. "Look here, Miss Keane.
It's rather nonsense talking about being a waitress or a shopgirl. You
told me you had a small income saved from the wreck. How much is it? I
am asking in no spirit of impertinent curiosity. I have a reason for
asking."
She hesitated for a moment before she replied: "Something like a hundred
a year--paid to me quarterly by my cousin, Mr Dutton, who is my
trustee."
"Then you are not exactly a pauper. Shopgirls and waitresses don't earn
that."
"But it would help," said Miss Keane, in a stifled voice. "A hundred a
year does not go far; with clothes and everything."
He longed to take her in his arms there and then and ask her to be his
wife, so far was he subjugated by her subtle fascination. But certain
things occurred to him. He thought of his old ancestry, his uncle whose
heir he would be, even a faint idea of his cousin Nina flashed through
his mind. What would his relatives say to a marriage like that, the
marriage with a girl, however beautiful, picked up in a flat, owned by a
woman of good family but doubtful reputation?
But he could not afford to lose her. He was rich, he could indulge any
passing whim. Out of his new-born ideas he spoke.
"Miss Keane, I am very interested in you. Will you agree to look upon
me as a friend?"
She looked up at him from under downcast eyes.
"Mr Spencer, somehow I have always looked upon you as a friend, as
something different from the ordinary man I meet in a place like this."
"You want to get out of this atmosphere, away from your card-playing
cousin, who cannot keep her parties free from disgraceful scandals."
"I have told you how fervently I long to say good-bye to it all."
Spencer had made up his mind as to what he was going to do. It was
quixotic, but then he was a quixotic person. And, anyway, he was
marking time. He would ask her to marry him in the end, but, at the
moment, he did not clearly see his way to do so.
"Suppose a woman friend offered to lend you five hundred pounds, to
enable you to get clear of this stifling atmosphere, what would you say?
You could go and live where you like and look around."
"If a woman friend asked me that I think I should say, yes."
"You have agreed that I am your friend, true, a man friend," said Guy.
"Suppose I made you the same offer, what is your answer?"
"From a man friend I fear my answer must be an unhesitating `no,' even
to you."
He admired her answer. He could gather from it that she respected
herself too much to snatch at any offer that came along.
But he would play with her still. "Why?" he asked.
The beautiful eyes, still a little clouded with her tears, met his
unfalteringly.
"You know as well as I do," was her answer. "I am poor, Mr Spencer,
but I am very proud."
He sat down beside her, and took her hand in his.
"I admire you for that answer, Stella. I may call you Stella, may I
not? But I am not quite the ordinary type of man. I am going to speak
quite plainly to you. If you accept that five hundred pounds, I am not
going to ask you for any return. I want you to understand that."
She shot at him a swift glance from under the downcast eyes.
"You are a man out of a thousand, nay, out of ten thousand," she said,
and in her voice there was a note of great appreciation. If Stella
Keane ever felt a good impulse in her life, it was towards this man who
was doing his best to befriend her.
"Listen to me," said Spencer persuasively, her delicate hand still lying
in his. "I don't know that I have done much good to other people in my
life, but I do want to help you. I should like to get you out of this
beastly hole. My proposal is, that I shall take for you a little
furnished flat and supplement your income, or give you the five hundred
pounds down, to do what you like with. It is for you to choose."
"You would do this for me?" said Stella softly. "You must really like
me, then! Men don't do this sort of thing for women unless they like
them."
"I like you very much, Stella, and I want to help you."
He knew that he could take her in his arms and kiss her at his will.
But he forebore. He was not going to spoil this somewhat idyllic
wooing.
"It cannot take place for a week or so," she said presently. "I cannot
quite leave my cousin in the lurch. I must give her some sort of
notice. Of course, I can make the excuse that the events of last night
have completely shattered my nerve."
"I don't wonder," was Spencer's comment. "Now, about this little matter
we have been speaking of. I think it would be better if I paid this
money into your bank, and left you to make your own arrangements. I
suppose you have a bank?"
Yes, Miss Keane had a banking-account, a very small one. She smilingly
remarked that it would give the manager a shock when such a large sum
was paid into it.
"I will draw the money in cash to-morrow and bring it to you," said
Spencer. "Then nobody will be able to guess from whom it comes."
He rose, he could not trust himself to stay very much longer. At any
moment his reserve might break down. He might be impelled to change the
role of the benevolent friend into that of the ardent lover.
And for a long time after he had left, Stella Keane sat absorbed in the
most serious thoughts.
There was no doubt he was ardently in love with her. But he was not yet
quite prepared to screw up his courage to the sticking place.
It was easy to understand. The obligations he owed his family were
weighing on his mind. The woman he made his wife would one day be the
Countess of Southleigh. He had to think of all this. And all he knew
about her was learned from her own statement, and she had a cousin who
was, from his point of view, certainly not a gentleman.
Above all things, Stella Keane was a very business-like young woman, and
never shrank from looking facts squarely in the face. She must play a
waiting game. Guy Spencer was very deeply in love, but he was not a
hotheaded, impetuous boy, the sort of amorous youth who runs off with a
chorus-girl, regardless of consequences. Lovers of this kind were very
rarely met with.
If Guy Spencer did marry her, and she could not at the moment be sure he
would, he would be fully conscious of the disadvantages to himself
entailed by such a marriage. Would her fascination be strong enough to
conquer his better judgment?
At any rate, for the present he was prepared to advance her five hundred
pounds, and ask nothing but her friendship in return. It was an offer
that she would have been a fool to refuse.
Presently she rose and went up to Mrs L'Estrange's bedroom. That
sorely perturbed lady had risen, flung on a dressing-gown, and was
reclining on a sofa.
"I can't sleep, I only fidget and fidget about," was the explanation.
"So I thought I might as well get up."
"Very wise," said Stella calmly. "You're a little bit too hysterical,
you know. You should keep your nerves in order as I do mine."
"Not always," was the sarcastic rejoinder. "They go to pieces in
thunderstorms and air-raids, don't they?"
"The exception proves the rule, my dear lady. Well, I haven't come up
here to indulge in a sparring match. I have some very great news for
you. Mr Spencer called this afternoon; he hasn't left me very long."
The elder woman became interested at once. "You don't mean to say he
has asked you to marry him?"
Stella laughed. "No, he hasn't, although it will not be my fault if he
doesn't later on. It seems Tommy Esmond called on him last night, and
made a clean breast of his whole history."
Mrs L'Estrange frowned. "Then I think he was a great fool. Everybody,
of course, will know what actually happened, that he was discovered
cheating. But he need not go and tell him more than he would learn from
general rumour."
Stella's face hardened a little. "You must make some allowances for
him. He must have been in a terrible state of tension when he felt that
his career was ended. He was so very proud, you know, of the position
in society that he had won for himself. He must have felt like a man on
the eve of execution. He was hardly responsible for his thoughts or
actions. He is very highly-strung."
Mrs L'Estrange spoke more gently. "Yes, of course. I am sorry I said
that, my dear. And after all, it doesn't make any difference how much
he told or how little. The result to him is the same. And now for your
great news, what are they? You say Spencer has not asked you to marry
him."
Stella told her of Guy's suggestion, and her acceptance of it. "It is
too good a chance to refuse. So, my dear, I shall have to leave you at
the earliest possible moment."
It was some time before the elder woman seemed quite able to grasp it.
When she did, her astonishment seemed unbounded.
"Of all the strange things I have ever heard," she began, but Stella cut
her short with a little mocking laugh.
"Not quite so strange when you think it quietly out," she said. "If he
really knew anything about me, if I could produce a few respectable
relatives, if I had some of your blue blood in my veins, he would have
proposed this afternoon."