One bright summer morning Simon Carne sat in his study, and reflected on the slackness of things in general. Since he had rendered such a signal service to the State, as narrated in the previous chapter, he had done comparatively nothing to raise himself in his own estimation. He was thinking in this strain when his butler entered, and announced "Kelmare Sahib." The interruption was a welcome one, and Carne rose to greet his guest with every sign of pleasure on his face.
"Good-morning, Kelmare," he said, as he took the other's outstretched hand; "I'm delighted to see you. How are you this morning?"
"As well as a man can hope to be under the circumstances," replied the new arrival, a somewhat blasé youth, dressed in the height of fashion. "You are going to the Greenthorpe wedding, of course. I hear you have been invited."
"You are quite right; I have," said Carne, and presently produced a card from the basket, and tossed it across the table.
The other took it up with a groan.
"Yes," he said, "that's it, by Jove! And a nice-looking document it is. Carne, did you ever hate anybody so badly that it seemed as if it would be scarcely possible to discover anything you would not do to hurt them?"
"No," answered Carne, "I cannot say that I have. Fate has always found me some way or another in which I might get even with my enemies. But you seem very vindictive in this matter. What's the reason of it?"
"Vindictive!" said Kelmare, "of course I am; think how they have treated me. A year ago, this week, Sophie Greenthorpe and I were engaged. Old Greenthorpe had not then turned his business into a limited liability company, and my people were jolly angry with me for making such a foolish match; but I did not care. I was in love, and Sophie Greenthorpe is as pretty a girl as can be found in the length and breadth of London. But there, you've seen her, so you know for yourself. Well, three months later, old Greenthorpe sold his business for upwards of three million sterling. On the strength of it he went into the House, gave thirty thousand to the funds of his party, and would have received a baronetcy for his generosity, had his party not been shunted out of power.
"Inside another month all the swells had taken them up; dukes and earls were as common at the old lady's receptions as they had been scarce before and I began to understand that, instead of being everybody to them as I had once been, the old fellow was beginning to think his daughter might have done much better than become engaged to the third son of an impecunious earl.
"Then Kilbenham came upon the scene. He's a fine-looking fellow and a marquis, but, as you know as well as I do, a real bad hat. He hasn't a red cent in the world to bless himself with, and he wanted money--well--just about as badly as a man could want it. What's the result? Within six weeks I am thrown over, and she has accepted Kilbenham's offer of marriage. Society says--'What a good match!' and, as if to endorse it, you receive an invitation to the ceremony."