The English visitors to Florence see outside the Florence Club effeminate elegants in English-made suits of blue serge, and brown boots, and they sigh to think that such specimens of humanity are the representatives of a noble race. Disguise it as you may, poor Italy is sadly decadent. Her glory has passed, her nobile are ruined and her labour enemies are, alas! bent upon putting her into the melting-pot. The gallant Italian army fought valiantly against the Tedesci. It saved Venice from the heel of the invader and it protected Dalmatia, where the population are Italians. But Italy to-day is not Italy of pre-war days, thanks to its paid agitators and its political scandals.
With the bright moon shining across the huge oleander beneath which I had again taken cover, I listened intently. But De Gex speaking with his guest was too far off for me to distinguish anything he said.
That he treated her with the greatest courtesy was apparent. And that he spoke to her with the most entire confidence I realized by my own observation.
At once I stole noiselessly forward from one bush to another until I was close to where the pair stood. I trod softly upon the grass, my ears strained to catch any word.
The words I at last caught were few and uncertain, for De Gex was speaking in a low and highly confidential tone.
At last, however, on approaching a little nearer, I heard him exclaim:
“Jack, your husband, is a young fool! He has no discretion. He gambles on the Stock Exchange without any expert knowledge. He came up here to me yesterday afternoon and told me that he must have ten thousand pounds to tide him over, and prevent him being hammered. I sent him away, but I shall see that he has the money.”
“How really good of you, Mr. De Gex!” exclaimed the girl—for as far as I could see she was hardly a woman. “I don’t know how to thank you sufficiently. I know Jack is a born gambler. His father was on the Stock Exchange before him, and I suppose games of chance are in the breed of the Cullertons.”
“Not in you, I hope, Dorothy,” replied the millionaire. “You have had the misfortune to marry a gambler, and—well, my dear girl—I pity you. Gambling is worse than drink. The drunkard can be sickened and put off, but the gambler never. Now I want you to promise me one thing.”