Mrs. Hardy then narrated the circumstances connected with her husband's visit to the hotel on the evening when he found George there card playing.
"This evening," she continued, "my son returned home earlier than usual, and went to his drawer, where I saw him take out some money—two or three sovereigns. I asked him what he was going to do with it, and after some difficulty I ascertained he intended lending it to your son. It occurred to me at once that George Weston was in trouble with those men; and I thought it only right that you should know."
It was kind of Mrs. Hardy to shew this interest, and Mrs. Weston esteemed her for it. But had they stood beside the table at which George was seated while they were talking, or could they have seen the flush of excitement as he threw down the cards, exclaiming, "By Jove! I've lost again!" and have watched the flashing eye and heaving breast, they would have felt, even more keenly than they did, how futile were words or sympathies to check the evil.
Chapter VIII.
A Test Of Friendship.
We pass over two years of George Weston's life—years full of strange experiences—and look into the office in Falcon-court one morning in the summer of 18—.
Mr. Compton is away on the Continent for a holiday tour, Mr. Sanders is still the manager, and nearly all the same old faces are in the office. George, who is now verging on the legal age of manhood, has risen to a good position in the establishment, and is regarded as second only to Mr. Sanders. He is wonderfully altered from when we saw him first in that office. He is still handsome; but the old sparkling lustre of his eye has gone, and no trace of boyishness is left.
Hardy is still there. Two years have not made so much difference in him as George. He looks older than he really is; but there is no mistaking him for the quiet, gentlemanly Charles Hardy of former days. Lawson and Williams are there, coarse and bloated young men, whose faces tell the history of their lives. Hardy rarely exchanges a word with them. George does more frequently, but not with the air of superiority he once did.
A close observer would have noticed in George that morning a careworn anxious look; would have heard an occasional sigh, and have seen him at one time turning pale, and again flushing with a crimson red.