Mr. Vandeleur and Mr. Longcluse were now seated, and the former gentleman said—
“Yes, I am a friend of Mr. Arden's—so much so, that I have ventured what I hope you won't think a very impertinent liberty. I was so very sorry to hear that a misunderstanding had occurred—I did not ask him about what—and he has been so unlucky about the Derby, you know—I ought to say that I am, upon my honour, a mere volunteer, so perhaps you will think I have no right to ask you to listen to me.”
“I shall be happy to continue this conversation, Mr. Vandeleur, upon one condition.”
“Pray name it.”
“That you report it fully to the gentleman for whom you are so kind as to interest yourself.”
“Yes, I'll certainly do that.”
Mr. Longcluse looked by no means so jolly as Van remembered him, and he thought he detected, at mention of Richard Arden's name, for a moment, a look of positive malevolence—I can't say absolutely, it may have been fancy—as he turned quickly, and the light played suddenly on his face.
Mr. Longcluse could, perhaps, dissemble as well as other men; but there were cases in which he would not be at the trouble to dissemble. And here his expression was so unpleasant, upon features so strangely marked and so white, that Van thought the effect ugly, and even ghastly.
“I shall be happy, then, to hear anything you have to say,” said Longcluse gently.
“You are very kind. I was just going to say that he has been so unlucky—he has lost so much money——”