A queer atmosphere of depression seemed about this time to have affected the two inhabitants of Number 94 Grosvenor Square. The Marquis had suddenly become aware of an aimlessness in life which not even his new financial hopes enabled him to combat. The night of his weekly dinner at Trewly's he spent in the entertainment of three ancient whist companions, and it was not until they had gone and he was left alone in the silent house that he realised how empty and profitless the evening had been. Day by day, after lunch, he sent out the same message to his chauffeur—five o'clock for the club instead of three o'clock for Battersea, and on each occasion the words seemed to leave his lips with more reluctance. He walked each morning in the Park, as carefully dressed and as upright as ever, but one or two of his acquaintances noticed a certain difference. There was an increased pallor, a listlessness of gait, which seemed to bespeak an absent or a preoccupied mind. He even welcomed the coming, one morning just as he was starting for his promenade, of Mr. Wadham, Junior. Here at least was diversion.
Mr. Wadham, Junior, had been rehearsing his interview and his prospective deportment towards the Marquis on the way up, and he started the enterprise to his own entire satisfaction. He entered the library with an exceedingly serious air, and he took great pains to be sure that the door was closed after the retreating butler before he did more than respond to his distinguished client's greeting.
"Anything fresh, Wadham?" the latter enquired.
"I have ventured to see your lordship once more," Mr. Wadham began, "with reference to the scrip which we deposited at the bank to meet certain liabilities on your behalf."
"Well, what about it?" the Marquis asked good-humouredly. "You lawyers know nothing of the Stock Exchange."
Mr. Wadham assumed an expression of great gravity.
"Would your lordship," he begged, "for the satisfaction of my firm, the members of which I think you will admit have always been devoted to your lordship's interests, ring up the stockbroking firm of—say—Messrs. Youngs, Fielden and Company, or any other you like, with reference to the value of those shares?"
"I am, unfortunately," the Marquis replied, "not in a position to do so. The shares were sold me by a personal friend. I am content to believe that if they had not been of their face value, the transaction would not have been suggested to me."
"That," Mr. Wadham declared seriously, "is not business."
"It happens to be the only way in which I can look upon the matter," was the cool reply.