Mr. Bernard Dreux was regarded by his friends rather as an institution than as an individual. He was a small man, but he wore the dignity of a senator, and he possessed a pride of that intense and fastidious sort which is rarely encountered outside the oldest Southern families. He was thin, with the delicate, bird-like mannerisms of a dyspeptic, and although he was nearing fifty he cultivated all the airs and graces of beardless youth. His feet were small and highly arched, his hands were sensitive and colorless. He was an authority on art, he dabbled in music, and he had once been a lavish entertainer—that was in the early days when he had been a social leader. Now, although harassed by a lack of money which he considered degrading, he still mingled in good society, he still dressed elegantly, his hands were still white and sensitive, contrasting a little with his conscience, which had become slightly discolored and calloused. He no longer entertained, however, except by his wit; he exercised a watchful solicitude over his slender wardrobe, and his revenues were derived from sources so uncertain that he seemed to maintain his outwardly placid existence only through a series of lucky chances. But adversity had not soured Mr. Dreux; it had not dimmed his pride nor coarsened his appreciation of beauty; he remained the gentle, suave, and agreeably cynical beau. Young girls had been known to rave over him, despite their mother's frowns; fathers and brothers called him Bernie and greeted him warmly—at their clubs.
But aside from Mr. Dreux's inherited right to social recognition he was marked by another and peculiar distinction in that he was the half-brother and guardian of Myra Nell Warren. This fact alone would have assured him a wide acquaintance and a degree of popularity without regard to his personal characteristics.
While it was generally known that old Captain Warren, during a short and riotous life, had dashed through the Dreux fortune at a tremendous rate, very few people realized what an utter financial wreck he had left for the two children. There had been barely enough for them to live upon after his death, and inasmuch as Myra Nell's extravagance steadily increased as the income diminished, her half-brother was always hard pressed to keep up appearances. She was a great responsibility upon the little man's shoulders, particularly since she managed in all innocence and thoughtlessness to spend not only her own share of the income, but his also. He was many times upon the point of remonstrating with her, but invariably his courage failed him and he ended by planning some additional self-sacrifice to offset her expanding necessities.
The situation would have been far simpler had Bernie lacked that particular inborn pride which forbade him to seek employment. Not that he felt himself above work, but he recoiled from any occupation which did not carry with it a dignity matching that of his name. Since the name he bore was as highly honored as any in the State, and since his capabilities for earning a living were not greater than those of an eighteen-year-old boy, he was obliged to rely upon his wits. And his wits had become uncommonly keen.
The winter climate of New Orleans drew thither a stream of Northern tourists, and upon these strangers Mr. Dreux, in a gentlemanly manner, exercised his versatile talents. He made friends easily, he knew everybody and everything, and, being a man of leisure, his time was at the command of those travelers who were fortunate enough to meet him. He understood the good points of each and every little cafe in the foreign quarters; he could order a dinner with the rarest taste; it was due largely to him that the fame of the Ramos gin-fizz and the Sazerac cocktail became national. His grandfather, General Dreux, had drunk at the old Absinthe House with no less a person that Lafitte, the pirate, and had frequented the house on Royal Street when Lafayette and Marechal Ney were there. It was in this house, indeed, that he had met Louis Philippe. His grandson had such a wealth of intimate detail at his finger tips that it was a great pleasure and privilege to go through the French quarter with him. He exhaled the atmosphere of Southern aristocracy which is so agreeable to Northern sensibilities, he told inimitable stories, and, as for antiques, he knew every shop and bargain in the city. He was liberal, moreover, nay, ingenuous in sharing this knowledge with his new-found friends, even while admitting that he coveted certain of these bargains for his own slender collection. As a result of Mr. Dreux's knack of making friends and his intimate knowledge of art he did a very good business in antiques. Many of his acquaintances wrote him from time to time, asking him to execute commissions, which he was ever willing to do, gratuitously, of course. In this way he was able to bridge over the dull summer season and live without any unpleasant sacrifice of dignity. But it was at best a precarious means of livelihood and one which he privately detested. However, on the particular day in the summer of 1890 on which we first encounter him Mr. Dreux was well contented, for a lumber-man from Minneapolis, who had come South with no appreciation whatever of Colonial antiques, had just departed with enough worm-eaten furniture to stock a museum, and Bernie had collected his regular commission from the dealer.
Now that his own pressing necessities were taken care of for the moment, he began, as usual, to plan for Myra Nell's future. This would have required little thought or worry had she been an ordinary girl, but that was precisely what Miss Warren was not. The beaux of New Orleans were enthusiastically united in declaring that she was quite the contrary, quite the most extraordinary and dazzling of creatures. Bernie had led them to the slaughter methodically, one after another, with hope flaming in his breast, only to be disappointed time after time. They had merely served to increase the unhappy number which vainly swarmed about her, and to make Bernie himself the target of her satire. Popularity had not spoiled the girl, however; her attitude toward marriage was very sensible beneath the surface, and Bernie's anxious efforts at matchmaking, instead of relieving their financial distress, merely served to keep him in the antique business. Miss Warren loved admiration; she might be said to live on it; and she greeted every new admirer with a bubbling gladness which was intoxicating. But she had no appreciation of the sanctity of a promise. She looked upon an engagement to marry in the same light as an engagement to walk or dine, namely, as being subject to the weather or to a prior obligation of the same sort. Bernie was too much a gentleman to urge her into any step for which she was not ready, so he merely sighed when he saw his plans go astray, albeit confessing to moments of dismay as he foresaw himself growing old in the second-hand business. But a change had occurred lately, and although no word had passed between brother and sister, the melancholy little bachelor had been highly gratified at certain indications he had marked. It seemed to him that her choice, provided she really had chosen, was excellent; for Norvin Blake was certainly very young to be the president of the Cotton Exchange, he was free from any social entanglements, and he was rich. Moreover, his name had as many honorable associations as even Bernie's own. All in all, therefore, the little man was in an agreeable frame of mind to-day as he strolled up Canal Street, nodding here and there to his acquaintances, and turned into Blake's office.
He entered without announcing himself, and Norvin greeted him cordially. Bernie seldom announced himself, being one of those rare persons who come and go unobtrusively and who interrupt important conversations without offense.
"Do I find you busy?" he inquired, dropping into one of Blake's easy-chairs and lighting a perfumed cigarette.
"No. Business is over for the day. But I am glad to see you at any time; you're so refreshingly restful."
"How are the new duties and responsibilities coming on?"