“But this panic of his, don't you know, was the funniest thing ever heard of. Going home that night I counted seventeen people on their knees in the streets—'pon my soul I did! Eleven old women of eighty, two or three of seventy, and one or two that might be as young as sixty-nine. Then the epidemic of piety in high life too! Several of our millionaires gave sixpence apiece to beggars—were seen to do it, don't you know. One old girl gave up playing baccarat and subscribed to 'Darkest England.' No end of sweet little women confessed their pretty weaknesses to their husbands, and now that the world is wagging along as merrily as before, they don't know what the devil they are to do—— But look here!”
Out of his trousers pockets at either side he tugged a torn and crumpled assortment of letters and proceeded to tumble them on to the table.
“These are a few of the applications I had from curates-in-charge and such beauties for the care of the living in Westminster while the other gentleman lay in jail. It's the Bishop's right to appoint the creature, don't you know, but they think a patron's recommendation—— Oh, they're a sweet team! Listen to this: 'May it please your lordship——'”
And then in mock tones, flourishing one hand, the man read aloud amid the various noises of the place—the pop of champagne bottles and the rumble of the dancing in the room below—the fulsome letters he had received from clergymen. The wretched women in their paint and patches shrieked with laughter.
It was at that moment Drake came up, looking pale and fierce.
“Hello there! Is it you? Sit down and take a glass of fizz.”
“Not at this table,” said Drake. “I prefer to drink with friends.”
Lord Robert's eyes glistened, and he tried to smile.
“Really? Thought I was counted in that distinguished company, don't you know.”
“So you were, but I've come to see that a friend who is not a friend is always the worst enemy.”