"Adrien, is it possible--you love her, and she----"

"Eveline," he said, "for the sake of our past friendship"--she started at the words--"do not say any more. You know we have only played with the divine pa.s.sion. It has beguiled many a pleasant hour, but I do not think it has been anything more than a pastime."

"Not to you," she said almost sullenly. "But how dare you doubt my feelings? How dare you insult me?"

"I did not mean to hurt you," he said gently, and her voice softened at his tone.

"Ah, Adrien," she cried beseechingly, "you do hurt me when you treat me like this. Try and forget her, unless"--she broke off abruptly--"unless you are really going to marry her. Is that so?"

"I told you," he answered wearily. "I shall never marry Constance. She is engaged to another."

"Thank Heaven!" was her, ladyship's mental e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n, but she said nothing aloud.

Leroy roused himself. "I must go," he said.

"So soon?" she asked tremulously. "Where are you going?"

"To the theatre."

She frowned, and, seeing it, he stopped to explain.

"It is no longer mine," he said with a faint smile.

"Not yours!" she cried in surprise.

"No, it belongs to Miss Lester."

Her quick intellect grasped his meaning at once.

"Henceforth, you mean to retire from the gay world, then?" she said, with a faint sneer, adding quickly, as his face darkened, "Ah, forgive me, if am bitter! I hate to see you unhappy. Try and forgive my ill-humour."

"You are, as ever, my queen," he said, "and can, therefore, do no wrong."

Lifting her hand to his lips, he turned and strode hastily from the room.

CHAPTER XVII

Adrien Leroy dined alone that night--a most unusual occurrence; but the scene with Lady Merivale moved him, and still troubled his mind. He had hitherto only regarded his love-making with her as part in the comedy of life, wherein he played the lover, to her lead; doffing and donning the character at will. That she had taken either him or herself seriously had never entered into his mind. Believing also in the hopelessness of his love for Lady Constance, he regretted bitterly having allowed his secret to escape him; yet so unaccustomed was he to the conventional and inevitable lying of the world in which he moved so serenely, that it had never occurred to him to deny the charge, and swear everlasting devotion to the countess alone.

Norgate, who waited on him as usual, noticed his abstraction.

"We're getting tired of London again," said that astute servant to himself, as he changed the dishes. "We're thinking of going East again or my name ain't what it is." For Adrien had spent the preceding year in Persia.

After dinner Leroy lingered in the comfortable, luxurious room, as if loth to start out again on the weary round of amus.e.m.e.nt. To youth and the uninitiated, pleasure, as represented by b.a.l.l.s, theatres or feasting, seems to be an everlasting joy; but to those born in the midst of it, trained and educated only to amuse or to be amused, it becomes work, and work of a most fatiguing nature. To dance when one wishes to rest; to stand, hour after hour, receiving guests with smile and bows, when one would gladly be in bed; to eat, when one has no appet.i.te for food; all this, continued day in day out, is no longer a pleasure--it becomes a painful duty.

Unlike the majority of his set, Adrien Leroy was never lonely; indeed, solitude to him was a pleasure, and one--the only one--which was difficult to obtain. Endued with a fine intellect and highly cultivated mind, even at college he had succeeded in studying when his companions had spent their time in "ragging," and other senseless occupations of a like nature. Thrown on his own resources, therefore, Leroy could have become a power in almost any of the artistic professions. Instead, his time, his youth and his faculties were being wasted in the ordinary pursuits of the people amongst whom he lived. Had he been a poorer man, he might have risen to any height by virtue of his own talents; but, lapped in luxury, lulled by the homage of society, he remained dissatisfied, discontented, and apathetic.

The clock, striking eight, aroused him. Throwing aside the cigar which had burnt itself out, he rose. He had promised Jasper to come down to the Casket Theatre; and, however weary he might be of the tinsel and glitter, yet he never thought of making an excuse, or of breaking his word.

He was about to set forth, when Norgate announced "Lord Standon," and though Adrien's greeting was as courteous as usual, the old genial warmth was gone. Lord Standon perceived this, and knew that he had not been mistaken in his belief that he had somehow angered Adrien.

Directly Norgate had closed the door behind him, therefore, he dashed, as was his wont, straight to the heart of things.

"Leroy," he said abruptly, "what's wrong with you?"

Adrien stared at him.

"Wrong!" he echoed. "What on earth do you mean? What should be wrong?"

"I don't know," returned the other bluntly; "but I seem to have rubbed you up the wrong way somehow----"

"Nonsense," said Leroy, trying hard to resume his usual warmth of manner. "What a ridiculous idea! Have you dined, or shall I ring?" He crossed the room almost hurriedly.

"No, no, thanks," interrupted Lord Standon. "I'm just off again; it was only a pa.s.sing idea. Sorry to have mentioned it."

He turned, as if to go; and Leroy made no attempt to restrain him.

"I have to congratulate you, I suppose, on your engagement?" he said coldly, when the young man had almost reached the door.

Lord Standon turned sharply, and stared at him. He grasped the situation at once, but was still greatly puzzled, for he knew Leroy was but slightly acquainted with Lady Muriel Branton.

"Thanks, old man," he returned, rather awkwardly. "But it's a dead secret, really; I suppose Lady Constance told you?"

Leroy frowned.

"Yes," he said simply, "Why not?"

"Oh, no reason at all," said Lord Standon, flushing like a boy; "only it's got to be kept quiet, you know--my affairs are in such a beastly state."

"I wonder you----" commenced Leroy.

"Dared to ask her," put in Standon, laughing a little confusedly. "Yes, it was a bit of cheek on my part, but 'faint heart never won fair lady,'

you know, and by Jove! if I hadn't, some other lucky devil might have slipped in and carried her off by sheer force!"

Leroy winced; for he himself would have endeavoured to "slip in and carry her off" had it not been for his friend.

"I don't see the need of secrecy," he said coldly. "Have you spoken to her guardian?" meaning, of course, Lord Barminster.

Unfortunately, to Lord Standon, being in love, there was only one woman in the world, and therefore only one guardian, and that one, her father, the Earl of Croywood.

"Good gracious, no!" he exclaimed. "He's such an old curmudgeon--that until I get over that beastly race----" He broke off, scarlet with confusion. Absorbed in his own affairs, he had completely forgotten that he was speaking to the owner of the unlucky horse.

Leroy was pale with anger; the reference to the race annoyed him, but still more the expression of "curmudgeon" as applied to his father.

Naturally, if he had stopped to consider, he would have realised that there must be some mistake; for Standon would hardly have spoken thus of Lord Barminster in his son's presence. But what lover ever does use his common sense? He drew himself up sternly, and Standon could have kicked himself for his unfortunate speech.