A woman's debt

by William Le Queux

“He’ll die in harness as his father and grandfather died before him,” said the young man decidedly. “It’s ingrained in them. But it does seem a pity that there’s nobody of his own blood to take the reins, I mean of course in the male line. But see, my aunt is beckoning me. We shall meet as usual to-morrow, if I don’t come across you again to-night.”

Sir George made his exit; evening parties did not appeal to him greatly. He went to one of his clubs where he was sure to find some eager gambling spirits like himself, and Archie Brookes made his way through the crowded rooms to his aunt, with whom he held a long conversation.

Mrs. Morrice was a handsome, charming mannered woman, some five years younger than her husband. Rupert Morrice had remained a bachelor till he was thirty-five, faithful to the memory of the beautiful girl who had made such a tragic wreck of her life, and then he had put the past away from him as far as it was possible, and married his present wife.

His father had died young, and he had been at the head of affairs for some six years and was a man of very considerable wealth, for he had been the only son and inherited a large fortune as well as the lucrative and old-established business. It would not have been difficult for him, in such a position, to have made a brilliant marriage; had he so chosen, he might have entered the ranks of the aristocracy, for more than one dowerless Belgravian maiden would have welcomed him as a suitor.

But although he had plenty of business ambitions, he was not very ambitious socially, considering his vast wealth. He had no desire to enter a proud and impoverished family who might think they were condescending when they allowed him to mate with their blue-blooded daughter. For rich as he was, he had come of homely stock, the founder of the great business having been a poor man of humble origin who had begun on the lowest rung of the ladder.

So he followed his own inclinations. He went abroad for a long holiday and returned with a wife, much to the astonishment of his friends and acquaintances. And not very much was vouchsafed about the antecedents of the lady who had become the wife of the much-sought-after banker. The world was given to understand that she was a woman of good family, but no very full details were given until the arrival of Sir George Clayton-Brookes upon the scene, when it was announced that a younger brother of his had married her sister.

The long conversation between Archie Brookes and his aunt came to an end presently, and then the young man took his departure. Like Sir George, he was not greatly interested in this kind of function. He did not belong to the exclusive clubs which opened their doors to his fashionable uncle, but there were less pretentious establishments which welcomed him. Like his relative, he was addicted to cards and betting, and was only really happy when in the society of kindred spirits.

Rosabelle and young Croxton spent some time together, while the uncle and nephew had been discussing them, and Archie Brookes had held that long conversation with his aunt. When young people have got much to say to each other, it takes a long time to consume an ice.

As they came back to the crowded rooms, the first person they met was Rupert Morrice himself. He was a fine-looking, grey-bearded man, carrying his fifty-five years well. The face was a little hard, perhaps, the clear blue eyes were very keen, but the tones of his voice showed that there was a very tender strain in his composition. He gave a kindly glance to his niece, and addressed the young man.

“I hope we shan’t be kept up too late, Dick; we have to be astir betimes to-morrow, to open that safe.”