"'Pon my honour, I can't tell you! I believe she has gone out as governess—best thing she could do, you know; better than marrying a poor devil like me," he added apologetically. "She was a nice enough little girl, and she had not half a bad time of it in the Andamans. I daresay she'll pick up some fellow at home. Look here, old chappie," button-holeing him as he spoke, "this is my card and address; now, what day will you come and dine? Got a tip-top cook,—not that you ever were particular,—my wife has pots of money, and we give rather swagger entertainments. Whatever day will suit you will suit me; you have only to say the word."
"I have only to say the word, have I!" cried Gilbert, suddenly blazing into passion; "then I say that you are a scoundrel, Mr. Quentin. I say that you have behaved like one to that girl, that's what I say."
Apollo recoiled precipitately. He did not like the angry light in his old friend's face, nor the manner in which he grasped his cane.
"You jilted her, on your own showing, in the most deliberate, cold-blooded manner. Jilted her because you were tired of a passing fancy, and she was left, as you say, penniless and destitute. She may thank her stars for a lucky escape! Better she should beg her bread than be the wife of a cur like you! There's your card," tearing it into pieces and scattering it on the floor. "In my opinion you should be kicked out of decent society, and turned out of every respectable club in London. I beg that, for the future, you will be good enough to give me a wide berth," and with a nod of unspeakable contempt he turned and walked away, leaving his foe absolutely speechless with rage and amazement.
Underneath these mixed feelings lay a smouldering conviction that Lisle, for all his customary nonchalance, could be as bitter and unsparing an enemy as he had been a generous and useful friend. Pleasant, stately houses would close—nay, slam their doors on him at a hint from Lisle, and if the story got about the clubs, and was looked at from Lisle's point of view,—it would be the very deuce! In his exaltation he had somewhat forgotten the rôle he formerly played with his fellow inmate,—and we know that to a liar a good memory is indispensable,—he had spoken rashly and foolishly with his lips, and had been thus summarily condemned out of his own mouth! Alas! alas! he already saw his circle of well-beloved, titled friends narrowing to vanishing point, as he now recalled a veiled threat uttered by the very man who had just denounced him! On the whole, Mr. Quentin thought that his little comedy with Miss Denis would prove an expensive performance, and he returned to his wealthy partner, feeling very much like a beaten hound.
That evening, as Gilbert Lisle drove up to the door of Mrs. Durand's mansion, he said to himself, "Here I come to the very house of all others where I am most likely to hear the sequel to that rascal's story. Mrs. Durand is safe to know all about Helen Denis,—and if she is the woman I take her to be, she won't be long before I know as much as she does herself! I shall say nothing—I shall not ask a single question about the young lady; not, indeed, that it personally concerns me whether she is on the parish or not. Still, I should like to hear what has become of her."
(He made these resolutions as he entered, and passed upstairs, and presented himself in the drawing-room.)
Strange to say, Mrs. Charles Durand had arrived at a precisely similar determination with regard to him. Hitherto they had only exchanged a few hasty words, had no opportunity of raking up "old days," but to-night it would be different; "At dinner he is sure to make some allusion to Port Blair, and her name will come on the tapis, and I can easily judge by his looks, if there was anything in my suspicions—and very strong suspicions they were! However, I won't be the first to break the ice; as far as Helen is concerned—I shall be dumb."
Thus Mrs. Durand to her own reflection in the mirror, as she attired herself for the evening.