“I’ve been expecting every day to hear from you,” Adam exclaimed at last. “When do you propose starting for Constantinople?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking over the matter, and I’ve come to the conclusion that just at present it is impossible for me to leave London. I have other interests here.”
Adam stirred uneasily in his chair. This reply filled him with chagrin, yet so clever was he, and such a perfect type of ingenious adventurer, that he never showed the least trace of surprise.
“Really,” he laughed, “that’s very unfortunate—for you!”
“Why, for me?”
“Well, the missing of such a chance would be unfortunate, even to a Rothschild,” he said. “There’s hundreds of thousands in the deal, if you’ll only go out with me. You’re not a man of straw. You can afford to risk a thousand or two, just as well as I can—even better.”
“I would willingly go if it were not for the fact that I find I must remain in London.”
Adam laughed, with just a touch of sarcasm.
“Ah! the lady! I quite understand, my dear fellow. The charming young lady whom I met with you the other night does not wish you to leave her side—eh? We have all of us been through that stage of amorous ecstasy. I have myself, I know that; and if I may tell you with the frankness of a friend, I’ve regretted it,” he added, holding up his white palms.
“All men do not regret I hope to be the exception,” remarked Max Barclay, pensively watching the smoke from his lips rise to the ceiling.