"From what you have said, I presume that he is unmarried?"
"There are no signs of a wife under this roof," said Byrne. "Besides himself, there is, in the office, first, his clerk, Pringle--a drunken, disreputable old vagabond enough, from what I have seen of him; and secondly, a youth of fifteen, to copy letters and run errands, and so on. Then, downstairs, in a dungeon below the level of the street, we have Bakewell and his wife, as custodians of the premises and personal attendants on Van Duren--a harmless, ignorant couple enough. These, with Miriam and myself, make up the sum total of the establishment. Pringle and the boy, I may add, do not sleep on the premises."
"Are you acquainted with Mr. Van Duren?" asked Miriam, suddenly lifting her eyes from the fire.
"I have not that honour," said Gerald, drily.
"There is a great deal of power about him," said Miriam, "and I like power in a man. He seems to me to be a man who would stand at nothing in working out his own ends either for good or evil. For women--weak women--such characters generally have a peculiar fascination."
"That's because you never have a will of your own for an hour together," said Byrne. "Women always admire what they possess least of themselves."
"Papa always runs the ladies down," said Miriam, smilingly, to Gerald. "But if only one-half that I have heard whispered be true, no one could be fonder of their society than he was, so long as he was young and good-looking."
"And now that he is neither----?" said Byrne.
"No one delights to run them down more than he. The old story, Mr. Warburton. Olives have no longer any flavour for him, therefore only fools eat olives."
Gerald rose and made his adieux. It was arranged that he should call again on the following Tuesday or Wednesday.