ntenance, softening here and there a line which told of
temperament in excess. At this moment his manner inclined to a bluff
jocularity, due in some measure to the bottle of wine before him, as
also was the tinge of colour upon his cheek; he spoke briefly, but
listened with smiling interest to his guest's continuous talk. This ran
on the subject of the money-market, with which the young man boasted
some practical acquaintance.

'You don't speculate at all?' Morphew asked.

'Shouldn't know how to go about it,' replied the other in his deeper
note.

'It seems to me to be the simplest thing in the world if one is content
with moderate profits. I'm going in for it seriously--cautiously--as a
matter of business. I've studied the thing--got it up as I used to work
at something for an exam. And here, you see, I've made five pounds at a
stroke--five pounds! Suppose I make that every now and then, it's worth
the trouble, you know--it mounts up. And I shall never stand to lose
much. You see, it's Tripcony's interest that I should make profits.'

'I'm not quite sure of that.'

'Oh, but it _is_! Let me explain--'

These two had come to know each other under peculiar circumstances a
year ago. Rolfe was at Brussels, staying--his custom when abroad--at a
hotel unfrequented by English folk. One evening on his return from the
theatre, he learnt that a young man of his own nationality lay
seriously ill in a room at the top of the house. Harvey, moved by
compassion, visited the unfortunate Englishman, listened to his
ravings, and played the part of Good Samaritan. On recovery, the
stranger made full disclosure of his position. Being at Brussels on a
holiday, he had got into the company of gamblers, and, after winning a
large sum (ten thousand francs, he declared), had lost not only that,
but all else. that he possessed, including his jewellery. He had
gambled deliberately; he wanted money, money, and saw no other way of
obtaining it. In the expansive mood of convalescence, Cecil Morphew
left no detail of his story unrevealed. He was of gentle birth, and had
a private income of three hundred pounds, charged upon the estate of a
distant relative; his profession (the bar) could not be remunerative
for years, and other prospects he had none. The misery of his situation
lay in the fact that he was desperately in love with the daughter of
people who looked upon him as little better than a pauper. The girl had
pledged herself to him, but