“What a frightfully democratic opinion for one of your order to promulgate!” returned D’Almayne, smiling at the disconsolate tone in which Lord Alfred spoke; “really you ought to have been born on the other side of the Channel; but I think I perceive your difficulty: you do not care to be admitted into society merely for your rank, but wish to achieve a distinctive social reputation for yourself; is it not so?”
“Yes! you have expressed my ideas exactly; a great deal better than I could have done myself,” was the reply. “And now tell me in what way is this desirable consummation to be effected.”
“Nothing is more easy. In the first place you require self-confidence; let people see that you think yourself a fine fellow, and they will begin to think so too. In the next place, take a decided line of some kind, and adhere to it steadily; but, in order to be able to do so, be careful, ere you select it, that it is in accordance with your natural dispositions and tastes.”
“Good general maxims,” returned Lord Alfred; “and now to apply them to the particular instance.”
D’Almayne paused for a moment ere he replied—
“If you really wish me to constitute myself your Mentor, you must allow me more opportunities of enjoying your society than I have hitherto possessed, and then, from time to time, I dare say I may be able to give you a few hints which you may find practically beneficial; and as there is nothing like making use of the present occasion, what say you to allowing me to introduce you to a kind of private club, where I and a few of my particular set sometimes meet after the Opera, and while away an hour or two with a hand at whist or écarté, or exchange our ideas on the topics of the day over a game of billiards; the stakes are, of course, suited to the measure of our purses, my own being an uncomfortably shallow one. We are close to the entrance, shall we turn in?”
After a moment’s hesitation, the result of an indefinite notion that he was about to do something wrong, Lord Alfred consented; and D’Almayne knocked at the door of what looked like a good private house. The portal unclosed, and immediately shut again by some mysterious agency, for, when they entered, no domestic was visible; and they proceeded along a passage to a second door covered with red baize, with a glass eye, placed Cyclop-like in the middle of its forehead, through which a human face observed them for a moment, then disappeared, and the red baize door opened and admitted them of its own accord, as the outer one had set it the example. Following his companion up a flight of stone stairs, at the top of which yet another baize door with a Cyclopian optic presented itself, Lord Alfred Courtland heard the sounds of laughing and conversation, and in another moment found himself in a large, well-lighted apartment, round which were dispersed sundry small tables, at which were seated, in groups of three or four, from a dozen to fifteen men, all of whom were recruiting exhausted nature with Champagne, pine-apple ice, or more substantial viands, if their tastes inclined them thereunto. Placing himself at an unoccupied table, D’Almayne inquired in his most insinuating tone—“Champagne, Claret, Johannisberg—what is your pet vanity, my lord?—c’est affreux, the inefficient ventilation of that Opera-house. I am positively famished with thirst, and must drown my enemy before Horace is himself again.”
“Having obtained the privilege of considering you my Mentor, I cannot do better than avail myself of your valuable taste and experience in the selection of a beverage,” returned Lord Alfred, falling into his companion’s humour with that dangerous facility which was at once his bane and his greatest charm. So Champagne and ice, and biscuits, all first-rate of their kind, were brought and discussed; and during the demolition thereof, one or two intimates of D’Almayne, faultless in mien and manners, lounged up, and were introduced to his lordship, and drank wine dreamily, and talked smart nothings with a sleepy wittiness as of inspired dormice; and otherwise exhibited symptoms of that life-weary, all-to-pieces condition which very young men believe in as the ne plus ultra of modern dandyism; and Lord Alfred’s heart leaped within him as he thought that now he had at last really begun “life,” and was in a fair way to become a man-about-town. Such wonderful beings are we, ætatis nineteen!
When a man is thirsty nothing is easier than to drink a bottle of Champagne without knowing it, perhaps even till the next morning; I never heard of the delusion lasting longer. Whether Lord Alfred Courtland drank more or less than a bottle on the occasion in question, history relateth not, but certainly, when he rose and strolled into the billiard-room, he felt considerably exhilarated, and eager to achieve something “fast,” which might tend to impress his incipient “about-townishness” in the minds of his fashionable acquaintances. Thus, hearing the rattle of dice in a further apartment, he, to D’Almayne’s surprise and amusement, declared billiards a bore, and whist “slow,” and “voted” for something with a little more fun in it. So, “Dante"-like, entering the infernal regions, they very soon “knew a bank whereon” much “wild time” had been wasted, and an immense crop of wild oats sown;—and off which certain proprietors had reaped many golden sheaves, while the sowers themselves had gained only experience, teaching them how to take care of their money, about the time when their money was all gone, which must have been more improving than consolatory to the “cleaned-out ones.” Then first upon Lord Alfred’s youthful ear fell the command, diabolical in its persuasive eloquence, “Faites le jeu, messieurs!” then timidly, and with feelings akin to those of mediæval youths who, in the good old feudal times, signed uncomfortable compacts with the Evil One, which never turned out satisfactorily for them even in this world, did Lord Alfred stake his first guinea, and unfortunately lose it. We say unfortunately, for had he won, and so come, seen, and conquered, he might have listened to the appeals of conscience which just then were striving to make a coward of this neophyte man about town; but, as matters stood, he felt a stern necessity to vindicate the sang froid with which he could support a run of ill luck; and playing again—won, doubled his stake—won; then, against D’Almayne’s advice, staked his winnings on “le rouge,” and that colour proved successful; and then the gambler-spirit came upon him, and he played with a fierce eagerness, and drank more Champagne, and played again, until two hours later D’Almayne almost forced him away from the table, and took him home, flushed and excited, a winner of one hundred pounds! Poor boy! as he left that haunt of sordid vice and idle folly, he believed that he had done something clever, and spirited, and manly, and longed for the next evening, when he might again distinguish himself; but could he have foreseen half the consequences of this, his first step in evil, or the sorrow he was thereby bringing upon true hearts that loved him, he would have shrunk from again crossing the threshold, as though it were indeed that of the hell which in their unseemly jesting men term it.
Rising late the next morning, he was informed that a gentleman was waiting to see him, and on entering the sitting-room, found Horace D’Almayne in an easy-chair and an elegant attitude.