With jest and laughter they took their places at the table.

"Well, how's the steeplechase going?" asked Leroy, turning to Shelton.

"What do you think of my 'King Cole'? Does he stand a chance?"

"A chance!" echoed all three.

"The odds are four to one on him, and few takers," announced Shelton.

Lord Standon set down his gla.s.s.

"Ah, that was yesterday," he said. "I was there later, and the odds were being lifted. You can lay what you like on him, my dear fellow, and you will have no difficulty in finding takers."

"Oh!" commented Adrien, almost listlessly. "Something better in the field, I suppose? I thought the roan was not to be touched."

"And I, also," said Mortimer Shelton; "I can't understand it! The only new entry was a weedy chestnut, listed by a Yorkshireman in the afternoon. 'Holdfast' they call him."

"He'll require more hustling than holding," returned Paxhorn sarcastically.

Lord Standon finished his wine.

"I'll back the roan while there's a penny to borrow," he said with sublime confidence. "There's nothing can touch him."

"That's what Jasper said," remarked Leroy, "and he ought to know."

"Oh, yes, he's a good judge of a horse," grudgingly admitted Shelton, who frankly hated him; "and of men too--when it pays him."

Leroy's face darkened slightly. Vermont was his friend, and he resented a word spoken against him far more than he would have done one against himself.

"You misjudge him, Shelton," he said briefly.

"Possibly," retorted the other, unabashed. "What you find so fascinating in him I can't imagine. Still, my dear fellow, setting Vermont aside, there can be no two opinions respecting your chef. Sarteri is a possession I positively envy you. There is not another chef in England that understands entrees as he does."

"None," echoed Lord Standon. "Leroy will be famous for one thing, at least, if it's only for his cook."

The meal came to an end, and the table was cleared by the silent Norgate. Cards were produced, and the four were soon deep in the intricacies of bridge. They played high and recklessly; and after little more than an hour, Shelton and Leroy had lost over five hundred pounds.

"A close run, eh, Shelton?" laughed Leroy as he took the notes from an open drawer. "Had they played the knave we should have won. Time for another round?"

"Not I," replied his friend, with a regretful shake of his head. "I'm due at Lady Martingdale's."

"Picture galleries again?" laughed Standon, who knew that lady's weaknesses.

"Yes," Shelton confessed, "and with Miss Martingdale too."

The others laughed significantly.

"Say no more, Mortimer," begged Lord Standon, with mock grief. "Your days are numbered. Already I see myself enacting the part of chief mourner--I should say, best man--if you will allow me."

Shelton rose, laughing good-humouredly.

"Thanks, I'll remember--when it comes to that!"

"You're incorrigible, Stan," said Leroy, as his guests were taking their leave. "You'd better settle down yourself first, and leave Shelton alone."

When they had all gone, the host stood looking at the empty chairs. They seemed, as it were, typical of the weary, empty hours of his life, and for the first time a wholesome distaste of it all swept over him. Day in, day out, an everlasting whirl--wherein he and his companions turned night into day and spent their lives in a hollow round of gaiety, in which scandal, cards, women and wine were chief features. And, at the end! What would be the end?

Then he shook himself from his unaccustomed reverie; Adrien Leroy, the popular idol of fashionable society, was not given long to introspection.

"What next?" he asked himself.

It was Norgate who answered the unspoken query, by announcing that the motor was at the door.

As Adrien descended the stairs, Jasper Vermont entered the hall below him.

"Ah, just in time!" he said with his amicable smile. "You're off to the Park, I suppose?"

"I don't know yet," returned Adrien evasively. "What do you think of the motor?"

"Worthy even of Adrien Leroy," replied Jasper, with the faintest suspicion of a sneer, which, however, pa.s.sed unperceived by his friend.

"By the way," he continued, as they walked to the door together, "I have just left Ada in tears, poor girl; repentance followed closely on repletion. She vows solemnly to refrain from onions and patchouli for the future, and begs for the return of your favour."

Leroy smiled gravely at his companion's flippant tones.

"You make an eloquent advocate; but there's little need for pity in her case; her tastes are natural to her cla.s.s. I was to blame for not realising it before; but she'll be well set up for the future," he said, and forthwith dismissed the subject from his mind. "But Jasper, what of this chestnut entered the steeplechase?"

Vermont's dark, restless eyes dropped for a moment; then he said lightly:

"Do you mean that Yorkshire screw? Oh, he is all right! Can't run the course, I should say, let alone the last rise. Nothing can touch the roan. If I weren't a beggar, I'd cover 'King Cole's' back with guineas."

"Do it for me," said Leroy carelessly, as he settled into the waiting Daimler, which was his latest purchase.

"What, another thousand?" asked Jasper almost eagerly.

"Two, if you like," said his friend, as the chauffeur started the car, and with a smile to Vermont he took his departure.

Vermont stood looking after him, his gaze almost still in its fixity; then he turned and pa.s.sed up the stairs. In the dining-room he found Norgate, clearing away the cards and gla.s.ses, in no very amiable humour.

"Has there been a luncheon party?" queried Mr. Vermont.

"Yes, sir," answered Norgate aggrievedly; "Mr. Shelton, Lord Standon and Mr. Paxhorn."

"And bridge?" murmured Mr. Vermont inquiringly.

"Yes, sir; and from what I heard, I believe Mr. Leroy lost."

"Ah," commented the other softly, "I fear Mr. Leroy always does lose, doesn't he?"

"He's made me lose my time to-day with his fads and fancies," grumbled Norgate, removing the folding card-table; "what with bringing in street wenches at one o'clock in the morning; and they mustn't be disturbed, if you please."