“You do not worry me,” said a lady to an insect.
“In that case,” said the cavalier of the streets, “I may spare you my apologies, which, I assure you, are quite dangerously insincere. I had intended not to sin against you again. But, this very afternoon, something has happened, something really rather awkward. I do not often lose money at poker, Mrs. Avalon—in fact, I make a point of not losing money at poker, in so far, of course, as a man of honour may make a point about a hazard. But, whether it was the memory of your beauty, for I may not ever forget it, that came between me and my skill, or whether—Oh, what does it matter why it was, since the fact remains that I have lost money, and must pay what I owe or forfeit my honour....”
“Your honour!” she gasped. “Oh, commedia, commedia!”
“I could wish I was as privileged as you to take a comical view of it. It is only a small debt, however. A matter of twenty pounds. I have still ten left of the fifty you so kindly lent to me the other day—I wonder, Mrs. Avalon, I wonder if you could by any chance help me with the rest? I should be so grateful.”
So she had been right about him, after all! He would not have come again, in the ordinary way. She looked into his eyes, and they were as the eyes of other men. The cavalier of the streets was without his sneer.
“Yes,” she said gravely. “A debt of honour—surely you must pay a debt of honour, O cavalier of the streets! It is very commendable in you to want to.”
“It is merely good sense, madam. Like all matters of honour. If one does not pay, one does not get paid.”
Her fingers were playing within her bag. They ceased.
“I’m so afraid,” she murmured, “that I have only a few shillings....”
“Pity!” whispered the shabby young man; and he smiled curiously, as might a man whose horse has been beaten by a short head.