Her mother had died when she was quite a child, and thus she became the one earthly delight and pride of her father, who was managing director of, and chief shareholder in, one of the most prosperous and respectable firms in London. She lived with her father in one of those fine old houses, surrounded by a large tract of park-lands, a few of which yet remain within the precincts of Larger London, in spite of the ravages of the speculative builder.
She was at the time of the commencement of this history about twenty-three years of age. She was a perfectly womanly woman. She hated much of the foolish flippancy which characterised many of the women she knew, and had a healthy disgust for those who talked lightly about not being bound by those great social institutions which lie at the basis of our national greatness and purity. Nevertheless, she dared to think for herself, and had an almost masculine way of defending her opinions.
Being the only child of John Castlemaine, who occupied not only a high position in the City of London, but owned more than one fine estate in England, she had all that money could buy, while her father's integrity and honourable reputation made her the envy of those who, socially, would regard her as an inferior. For John Castlemaine, while bearing a name known in English history, and possessed of great wealth, was still a member of what is called the "middle classes." He simply stood high up in his own class. He was not of those who mingled freely with the men who guide the destinies of the nation. Rich men came to his house, men great in the world of finance; but men great in the world of politics and science and letters were unknown to him. Perhaps this was his own fault, or perhaps it was because his tastes were simple and because he did not possess the qualities which would attract men of influence and power to his house. For John Castlemaine was a plain man. He belonged to the merchant class, and he prided himself on the position he held.
As we have said, his daughter, Olive Castlemaine, had had many suitors for her hand, but she had refused them all. Among those who had been unfortunate were Harold Sprague and Herbert Purvis. They were both mediocre but respectable young men. Both had been in love with her, and both were wounded at her refusal. Perhaps this was why the mention of her name made them start as if with pain.
"Do you accept?" said Winfield.
"What do our pattern young men say?" sneered Leicester, and he looked from one to another as if awaiting their answer.
CHAPTER II
THE CHALLENGE ACCEPTED
For a minute there was a silence. In spite of the fact that Radford Leicester had instilled his own spirit into the party, there was something in his cynicism that repelled them as well as fascinated them. They were not bad young men. Not that they had high ideals, or were filled with lofty enthusiasms. But they had been reared on conventional lines, and although neither of them would have admitted it, they were influenced by the conventions which had surrounded their lives. To them there was something sordid, something repellent, in the thought of a man coolly offering to marry any one in order that he might prove the truth of a cynical statement to which he had given utterance. Nevertheless, they longed to accept his challenge. Radford Leicester's spirit possessed them; the man's cool and confident cynicism attracted them. The very daring of the proposal broke down their conventional ideas. Besides, in spite of Leicester's confidence, they did not believe that his opinions were true. Especially was this true of Purvis and Sprague. They had proposed to Miss Olive Castlemaine and had been refused. Other very eligible young men had also suffered the same fate. Was it likely, then, that Leicester, whose reputation was so peculiar, would be more fortunate than they?