"If I doubted it I'd never let him marry her," he muttered.
"What can you do? She's set her heart on him. I don't mean he's going to ill-treat her. He'll be so proud of her that he'll hang on to her till she'll long to be left alone a bit. But she'll find him a bore after a time. She's not used to bores. God! If I had to live with old Joe I'd blow my brains out."
And he talked on; he had the philosophy of life at his tongue's tip; and yet what a muddle he made of his own! He reminded Ian of agricultural experts he knew, drawn from the ranks of ruined landed proprietors, yet ready to give advice to those who prosper on their acres. Gradually, he ceased to pay heed to the flow of words. He was an early riser and his bedtime hour had long passed. And he followed his own train of thought, nodding occasionally at his cousin's eloquence, and trying to get him out of the place.
"The essence of real love," remarked the oracle, as they left for the Hotel Europe at last, "is sacrifice. A man who's not ready for that is no lover."
And again Ian felt comforted.
He stopped two days in town, saw his lawyer anent Vanda's dowry, looked at sables, bought her a diamond pendant, and prepared to leave his cousin. This last much against his will. With his old impetuosity, he was playing heavily at his club, where a few gamblers lingered, detained for lack of funds to take them abroad. They hailed Skarbek's coming with joy, knew all about his fantastic winnings, and set about fleecing him.
"You'd be far happier if you settled down," said Ian as they finished lunch on the day of his departure. He could not understand any full-grown man caring to live from day to day. For him, happiness lay in the even road, a steady income, regular employment and an entire absence of excitement.
"Settle down?" echoed the other. "On what?"
"You've that money you won at Monte Carlo. Bank it and let me tackle your Jews."
Roman laughed bitterly.