CHAPTER XXX
"SUPPOSING I TAKE THIS MONEY"
There was a momentary commotion in the Club. A woman had fainted at oneof the roulette tables. Her chair was quickly drawn back. She was helpedout to the open space at the top of the stairs and placed in aneasy-chair there. Lady Weybourne, who was on the point of leaving withher husband, hastened back. She stood there while the usual restorativeswere being administered, fanning the unconscious woman with a whiteostrich fan which hung from her waist. Presently Violet opened her eyes.She recognised Lady Weybourne and smiled weakly.
"I am so sorry," she murmured. "It was silly of me to stay in here solong. I went without my dinner, too, which was rather idiotic."
A man who had announced himself a doctor, bent over her pulse and turnedaway.
"The lady will be quite all right now," he said. "You can give herbrandy and soda if she feels like it. Pardon!"
He hastened back to his place at the baccarat table. Lady Hunterleys satup.
"It was quite absurd of me," she declared. "I don't know what--"
She stopped suddenly. The weight was once more upon her heart, theblankness before her eyes. She remembered!
"I am quite able to go home now," she added.
Her gold bag lay upon her lap. It was almost empty. She looked at itvacantly and then closed the snap.
"We'll see you back to the hotel," Lady Weybourne said soothingly. "Herecomes Harry with the brandy and soda."
Lord Weybourne came hurrying from the bar, a tumbler in his hand.
"How nice of you!" Violet exclaimed gratefully. "Really, I feel thatthis is just what I need. I wonder what time it is?"
"Half past four," Lord Weybourne announced, glancing at his watch.
She laughed weakly.
"How stupid of me! I have been between here and the Casino for nearlytwelve hours, and had nothing to eat. No, I won't have anything here,thanks," she added, as Lord Weybourne started back again for the bar,muttering something about a sandwich. "I'll have something in my room.If you are going back to the hotel, perhaps I could come with you."
They all three left the place together, passing along the private way.
"I haven't seen your brother all day," Violet remarked to LadyWeybourne.
"Richard's gone off somewhere in the car to-night, a most mysteriousexpedition," his sister declared. "I began to think that it must be anelopement, but I see the yacht's there still, and he would surely choosethe yacht in preference to a motor-car, if he were running off withanybody! Your husband doesn't come into the rooms much?"
Violet shook her head.
"He hasn't the gambling instinct," she said quietly. "Perhaps he is justas well without it. One gets a lot of amusement out of this playing forsmall stakes, but it is irritating to lose. Thank you so much forlooking after me," she added, as they reached the hall of the hotel. "Iam quite all right now and my woman will be sitting up for me."
She passed into the lift. Lady Weybourne looked after her admiringly.
"Say, she's got some pluck, Harry!" she murmured. "They say she lostnearly a hundred mille to-night and she never even mentioned herlosings. Irritating, indeed! I wonder what Sir Henry thinks of it. Theyare only moderately well off."
Her husband shrugged his shoulders, after the fashion of his sex.
"Let us hope," he said, "that it is Sir Henry who suffers."
* * * * *
Violet slipped out of her gown and dismissed her maid. In herdressing-gown she sat before the open window. Everywhere the placeseemed steeped in the faint violet and purple light preceding the dawn.Away eastwards she could catch a glimpse of the mountains, their peakscut sharply against the soft, deep sky; a crystalline glow, the firstherald of the hidden sunrise, hanging about their summits. The gentlebreeze from the Mediterranean was cool and sweet. There were many lightsstill gleaming upon the sea, but their effect now seemed tawdry. She satthere, her head resting upon her hands. She had the feeling of beingsomehow detached from the whole world of visible objects, as though,indeed, she were on her death-bed. Surely it was not possible to passany further through life than this! In her thoughts she went back to thefirst days of estrangement between her husband and herself. Almostbefore she realised it, she found herself struggling against thetenderness which still survived, which seemed at that moment to betearing at her heart-strings. He had ceased to care, she told herself.It was all too apparent that he had ceased to care. He was amusinghimself elsewhere. Her little impulsive note had not won even a kindword from him. Her appeals, on one excuse or another, had beendisregarded. She had lost her place in his life, thrown it away, shetold herself bitterly. And in its stead--what! A new fear of Draconmeyerwas stealing over her. He presented himself suddenly as an evil genius.She went back through the last few days. Her brain seemed unexpectedlyclear, her perceptions unerring. She saw with hateful distinctness howhe had forced this money upon her, how he had encouraged her all thetime to play beyond her means. She realised the cunning with which hehad left that last bundle of notes in her keeping. Well, there the factswere. She owed him now four thousand pounds. She had no money of herown, she was already overdrawn with her allowance. There was no chanceof paying him. She realised, with a little shudder, that he did not wantpayment, a realisation which had come to her dimly from the first, butwhich she had pushed away simply because she had felt sure of winning.Now there was the price to be paid! She leaned further out of thewindow. Away to her left the glow over the mountains was becomingstained with the faintest of pinks. She looked at it long, with mute andcritical appreciation. She swept with her eyes the line of violetshadows from the mountain-tops to the sea-board, where the pale lightsof Bordighera still flickered. She looked up again from the dark bluesea to the paling stars. It was all wonderful--theatrical, perhaps, butwonderful--and how she hated it! She stood up before the window and withher clenched fists she beat against the sills. Those long days andfeverish nights through which she had passed slowly unfolded themselves.In those few moments she seemed to taste again the dull pain of constantdisappointment, the hectic thrills of occasional winnings, the strange,dull inertia which had taken the place of resignation. She looked intothe street below. How long would she live afterwards, she wondered, ifshe threw herself down! She began even to realise the state of mindwhich breeds suicides, the brooding over a morrow too hateful to befaced.
As she still stood there, the silence of the street below was broken. Amotor-car swung round the corner and swept past the side of the hotel.She caught at the curtain as she recognised its occupants. Richard Lanewas driving, and by his side sat her husband. The car was covered withdust, both men seemed weary as though they had been out all night. Shegazed after them with fast-beating heart. She had pictured her husbandat the villa on the hill! Where had he been with Richard Lane? Perhaps,after all, the things which she had imagined were not true. The car hadstopped now at the front door. It returned a moment later on its way tothe garage, with only Lane driving. She opened her door and stood theresilently. Hunterleys would have to pass the end of the corridor if hecame up by the main lift. She waited with fast beating heart. Theseconds passed. Then she heard the rattle of the lift ascending, itsclick as it stopped, and soon afterwards the footsteps of a man. He wascoming--coming past the corner! At that moment she felt that the soundof his footsteps was like the beating of fate. They came nearer and sheshrank a little back. There was something unfamiliar about them. Whoeverit might be, it was not Henry! And then suddenly Draconmeyer came intosight. He saw her standing there and stopped short. Then he came rapidlynear.
"Lady Hunterleys!" he exclaimed softly. "You still up?"
She hesitated. Then she stood on one side, still grasping the handle ofthe door.
"Do you want to come in?" she asked. "You may. I have something to sayto you. Perhaps I shall sleep better if I say it now."
He stepped quickly past her.
"Close the door," he whispered cautiously.
She o
beyed him deliberately.
"There is no hurry," she said. "This is my sitting-room. I receive whomI choose here."
"But it is nearly six o'clock!" he exclaimed.
"That does not affect me," she answered, shrugging her shoulders. "Sitdown."
He obeyed. There was something changed about her, something which he didnot recognise. She thrust her hands into a box of cigarettes, took oneout and lit it. She leaned against the table, facing him.
"Listen," she continued, "I have borrowed from you three thousandpounds. You left with me to-night--I don't know whether you meant tolend it to me or whether I had it on trust, but you left it in mycharge--another thousand pounds. I have lost it all--all, youunderstand--the four thousand pounds and every penny I have of my own."
He sat quite still. He was watching her through his gold-rimmedspectacles. There was the slightest possible frown upon his forehead.The time for talking of money as though it were a trifle had passed.
"That is a great deal," he said.
"It is a great deal," she admitted. "I owe it to you and I cannot pay.What are you going to do?"
He watched her eagerly. There was a new note in her voice. He paused toconsider what it might mean. A single false step now and he might loseall that he had striven for.
"How am I to answer that?" he asked softly. "I will answer it first inthe way that seems most natural. I will beg you to accept your losingsas a little gift from me--as a proof, if you will, of my friendship."
He had saved the situation. If he had obeyed his first impulse, theaffair would have been finished. He realised it as he watched her face,and he shuddered at the thought of his escape. His words obviouslydisturbed her.
"It is not possible for me," she protested, "to accept money from you."
"Not from Linda's husband?"
She threw her cigarette into the grate and stood looking at him.
"Do you offer it to me as Linda's husband?" she demanded.
It was a crisis for which Draconmeyer was scarcely prepared. He wasdriven out of his pusillanimous compromise. She was pressing him hardfor the truth. Again the fear of losing her altogether terrified him.
"If I have other feelings of which I have not spoken," he said quietly,"have I not kept them to myself? Do I obtrude them upon you even now? Iam content to wait."
"To wait for what?" she insisted.
All that had been in his mind seemed suddenly miraged before him--theremoval of Hunterleys, his own wife's failing health. The way had seemedso clear only a little time ago, and now the clouds were back again.
"Until you appreciate the fact," he told her, "that you have no moresincere friend, that there is no one who values your happiness more thanI do."
"Supposing I take this money from you," she asked, after a moment'spause. "Are there any conditions?"
"None whatever," he answered.
She turned away with a little sigh. The tragedy which a few minutes agoshe had seen looming up, eluded her. She had courted a denouement invain. He was too clever.
"You are very generous," she said. "We will speak of this to-morrow. Icalled you in because I could not bear the uncertainty of it all. Pleasego now."
He rose slowly to his feet. She gave him her hand lifelessly. He kept itfor a moment. She drew it away and looked at the place where his lipshad touched it, wonderingly. It was as though her fingers had beenscorched with fire.
"It shall be to-morrow," he whispered, as he passed out.