As has been said, Dolly was at this time inclining towards Farquhar, but an episode of the next week set the rivals even again. She and Bernard accepted Mrs. Merton’s invitation. She bought a book on etiquette and studied it, but was nervous, nevertheless. Bernard also studied the book, because he wished to avoid blunders, but he remained perfectly composed; a point illustrating the radical difference between their characters. Bernard took in to dinner a pretty, clever, well-bred, well-dressed girl of five-and-twenty, who had heard his story, was impressed by his looks, and took an interest in him, as she told Mrs. Merton. She tried to draw him out and put him at his ease, and their conversation grew rather humourous ere she recognized her error.
Dolly’s partner was a big, dark, heavy-featured man, with a low, soft, monotonous voice and tired eyes. Hugh Meryon was Hugh Meryon to Dolly, and he was nothing more; but at Monaco he was known as Gambling Meryon, for among gamblers his play was remarkable by reason of his extraordinary and fantastic luck. He was the son of a highly respectable dean, and had suffered a highly respectable education; but he was born to gamble as the sparks fly upward, and gamble he did, sacrificing all to his passion. He loved the excitement, not the money won: like Fox, who declared that his favourite occupation was playing and winning, his second favourite playing and losing. His presence at Monkswell was due to Mrs. Merton’s fondness for black sheep, mustard with mutton, and other things which she should not have liked.
“I hear De Saumarez was to have come to-night,” Meryon began, without preface, before the advent of the soup. “I’m awfully sorry he couldn’t, I wanted to see him again. Do you know him?”
“Do you know him?” Dolly exclaimed, simultaneously.
“Oh yes; I used to know him pretty well, but I haven’t seen him for nine years. But he’s the sort of fellow one doesn’t forget; besides, I was there when his wife died.”
“Did you know her? What was she like?”
“Awfully delicate, and quite young and very pretty. De Saumarez was mad about her, waited on her hand and foot, though he wasn’t much good himself. You used to see him taking her out in a bath-chair and dodging the stones for fear they should jolt her—I’m boring you!” Meryon was diffident, and always expected to be found a bore; he had taken fright now at his own fluency, and annoyed Dolly inexpressibly by trying to talk about the weather, which he could not do. It was several minutes before she got him on the track again.
“What was wrong with Mrs. de Saumarez?”
“Consumption.”