“His gambling debts are more than he can ever pay”—added another—“And I hear he has lost a clear fifty thousand on the turf.”
These remarks were made indifferently, as though one should talk of the weather,—no sympathy was expressed,—no pity wasted. Every gambler there was selfish to the core, and as I studied their hardened faces, a thrill of honest indignation moved me,—indignation mingled with shame. I was not yet altogether callous or cruel-hearted, though as I [p 111] look back upon those days which now resemble a wild vision rather than a reality, I know that I was becoming more and more of a brutal egoist with every hour I lived. Still I was so far then from being utterly vile, that I inwardly resolved to write to Viscount Lynton that very evening, and tell him to consider his debt to me cancelled, as I should refuse to claim it. While this thought was passing through my mind, I met Lucio’s gaze fixed steadily upon me. He smiled,—and presently signed to me to accompany him. In a few minutes we had left the club, and were out in the cold night air under a heaven of frostily sparkling stars. Standing still for a moment, my companion laid his hand on my shoulder.
“Tempest, if you are going to be kind-hearted or sympathetic to undeserving rascals, I shall have to part company with you!” he said, with a curious mixture of satire and seriousness in his voice—“I see by the expression of your face that you are meditating some silly disinterested action of pure generosity. Now you might just as well flop down on these paving stones and begin saying prayers in public. You want to let Lynton off his debt,—you are a fool for your pains. He is a born scoundrel,—and has never seen his way to being anything else,—why should you compassionate him? From the time he first went to college till now, he has been doing nothing but live a life of degraded sensuality,—he is a worthless rake, less to be respected than an honest dog!”
“Yet some one loves him I daresay!” I said.
“Some one loves him!” echoed Lucio with inimitable disdain—“Bah! Three ballet girls live on him if that is what you mean. His mother loved him,—but she is dead,—he broke her heart. He is no good I tell you,—let him pay his debt in full, even to the soul he staked so lightly. If I were the devil now, and had just won the strange game we played to-night, I suppose according to priestly tradition, I should be piling up the fire for Lynton in high glee,—but being what I am, I say let the man alone to make his own destiny,—let things take their course,—and as he chose to risk everything, so let him pay everything.”
[p 112]
We were by this time walking slowly into Pall Mall,—I was on the point of making some reply, when catching sight of a man’s figure on the opposite side of the way, not far from the Marlborough Club, I uttered an involuntary exclamation.
“Why there he is!” I said—“there is Viscount Lynton!”
Lucio’s hand closed tightly on my arm.
“You don’t want to speak to him now, surely!”
“No. But I wonder where he’s going? He walks rather unsteadily.”