'Because they are so won, there is the greater necessity that I should have those of my cousin Dolores.'
'Which also reminds me that you owe me a good sum of money—cash lent, and lost at play.'
'Why the devil remind me of that just now?' replied, or rather asked, Morganstjern, savagely; and then for a little time the two smoked moodily in silence.
The would-be lover of Dolores had long been subjected to a run of evil fortune at the gaming-table. 'So long as there is the beacon of hope,' says a writer, 'life is able to show up a gleam now and then of rose-colour; but when adverse circumstances render any change impossible, life becomes intolerable.' And to this verge of desperation had Maurice Morganstjern come.
It was a source of keen irritation to him, to find that his rival—favoured by the Countess—could be with Dolores daily, while he—her cousin—could only visit her at stated times; and that all the advances he made to her seemed utterly futile and hopeless now.
'Nearly penniless as I am, Schrekhorn,' said he; 'I might have waited patiently, but have never had a gleam of hope.'
'If you waited a hundred years, it would be all the same, while she is under the influence of this fellow's voice, eye, and society.'
'What would you have me do?'
'Remove him, or remove her!' replied Schrekhorn with a fierce Dutch oath.
'More easily said than done. With her money, by the henckers! how I should enjoy myself all day long and do nothing!'