High play is one thing; cheating is another; if you ruin yourself it is your own affair, but if you try to ruin others by unfair means it is the affair of your neighbors. Prince Khristof’s mind was so made that he had never been able to perceive or comprehend the difference; of late years the meaning of that difference had been enforced on him disagreeably.
“I suspect he is the devil and all to have anything to do with at close quarters,” reflected Brancepeth, who was a very cautious young man. “And what a mess he’s made of his life, good Lord, with all his cleverness and position; why, a decent croupier’s a ten thousand times better fellow; he’ll rook you like winking if he can get you down at écarté.”
“And she came over here to see you, I suppose,” inquired Brancepeth, still curious.
“Scarcely,” said the Prince with a fleeting smile.
“Would you—wouldn’t you give me a word of introduction?” said Brancepeth hurriedly and conscious of his own temerity.
“To my daughter?” said the Prince blandly. “My dear lord, I should of course be delighted to do so—delighted; but I am not on speaking terms with her. I don’t call on her myself. How can I send anybody else to call?”
“What did you quarrel about?” asked Harry bluntly. “Who was right?”
Prince Khris looked at him with amusement; it was so droll to find people who asked questions like children instead of finding out things quietly for themselves. To his finer and more philosophic intelligence such a primitive question as right could not seriously affect anything. He thought the young Englishman a fool, an impertinent and dense fool; but he was never impatient of fools, they were too useful to him in the long run. What wise man would be able to play écarté unless there were fools with whom to play it?
“Of course the divorce was all Vanderlin’s fault!” said Brancepeth with clumsy curiosity.
“It is always the man’s fault in such cases. That is well known.”