“Mr. Pembroke,” said Hibbs, stammering and blushing, “I—I—hope you won’t say anything about this, sir. It would ruin me—I don’t mean in the canvass, for I tell you truly, sir, I hope you’ll be elected, and if it wasn’t for the party, I’d give up the fight now. But my mother, sir, don’t approve—don’t approve of playing for money—and—”
“You are perfectly safe,” answered Pembroke, “and quite right in your idea of duty to your party, and your dislike to wound your mother is creditable. But as for this dog, he must leave this county at once.”
Ahlberg said not a word. He did not lack mere physical courage, but cheating at cards was, to him, the most heinous offense of which he could be convicted. He had been caught—it was the fortune of war—there was nothing to be said or done. At least, it happened in this out-of-the-way corner of the world, where it could never be known to anybody—for he did not count his acquaintances in the country as anybody, unless—perhaps—Madame Koller. At that he grew pale for the first time. He really wanted Madame Koller’s money. But, in fact, he was somewhat dazed by Pembroke’s way of settling the trouble. It really shocked his ethics to see one gentleman punish another as if he were a bargeman or a coal heaver. These extraordinary Anglo-Saxons! But one thing was plain with him—if he did not remain perfectly quiescent Pembroke was quite capable of throwing him bodily out of the window—and if he had lost his honor, as he called it, there was no reason why he shouldn’t save his bones.
Pembroke, however, although he would have sworn that nothing Ahlberg could do in the way of rascality could surprise him, was as yet amazed, astounded, and almost puzzled by the promptness with which Ahlberg acquiesced in the status which Pembroke established. Ahlberg made no protest of innocence—he did not bluster, or grow desperate, or break down hysterically, as even a very bad man might under the circumstances. He simply saw that if he said anything, he might feel the weight of Pembroke’s arm. Nothing that he could have said or done was as convincing of his thorough moral obtuseness as the way in which he accepted his own exposure.
Just then the landlord opened the door. “Mr. Pembroke, your horse is at the door. It’s going to be a mighty bad night though—there’s a cloud coming up. You’d better stay and join them gentlemen in their game.”
“No, I thank you,” replied Pembroke, and turning to Ahlberg. “Of course, after what has passed, it is out of the question that I should fight you. Good God! I’d just as soon think of fighting a jail bird! Don’t take too long to get out of this county. Good night, Mr. Hibbs—good night—good night.”
Hibbs accompanied him out, and stood by him while he mounted.
“Mr. Pembroke,” he said, holding his hat in his hand, “I’m very much obliged for what you have done for me, and what you have promised. I promise you I’ll never touch a card for money again as long as I live.”
“And don’t touch a card at all with such an infernal rascal as Ahlberg,” answered Pembroke, altogether forgetting sundry agreeable games he had enjoyed with Ahlberg in Paris, and even in that very county—but it had been a good while ago, and Ahlberg had not tried any tricks on him.
This relieved Pembroke of a load of care—the folly of that quarrel was luckily escaped. But he debated seriously with himself whether he ought not to tell Madame Koller of Ahlberg’s behavior, that she might be on her guard against him. In a day or two he heard, what did not surprise him, that Ahlberg was about to leave the country—but at the same time that Madame Koller and her mother were to leave The Beeches rather suddenly. Mrs. Peyton met him in the road, and stopped her carriage to tell him about Eliza Peyton’s consummate folly in allowing that Ahlberg to stick to her like a burr—they actually intended crossing in the same steamer. That determined Pembroke. He rode over to The Beeches, and sitting face to face with Madame Koller in her drawing-room, told her the whole story. Pembroke was somewhat shocked to observe how little she seemed shocked at Ahlberg’s conduct. It was certainly very bad, but—but—she had known him for so long. Pembroke was amazed and disgusted. As he was going, after a brief and very business-like visit, Madame Koller remarked, “And it is so strange about Louis. The very day after it happened, he was notified of his appointment as First Secretary in the Russian diplomatic service—or rather his re-appointment, for he was in it ten years—and he has come into an excellent property—quite a fortune in fact for a first secretary.” Pembroke rode back home slowly and thoughtfully. He had never before realized how totally wanting Madame Koller was in integrity of mind. Olivia Berkeley now—