beautiful
Miss Cunningham, who had just made a triumphant _debut_ as the
beauty of the season--in fact, most people think the most beautiful girl
who has been seen since the day when Mrs. Langtry created her first
sensation in London. Miss Cunningham was at the party with the
Tressidys, and _blase_ chap as he was even then, Wildred went down
at the first shot from a pair of dark eyes--violet?--brown?--no one ever
yet was sure of their colour. Of course she's a great heiress, but the
man must be blind and paralysed who couldn't fall in love with Karine
Cunningham for herself; and however he gets it, Carson Wildred has no
lack of money of his own."

"How does gossip say he gets it?" I went on to enquire with eagerness
which I concealed as best I could.

"Oh, gossip doesn't trouble itself much in that way!" Driscoll laughed.
"It only concerns itself to eat his dinners, for as a matter of fact,
though I can't exactly vouch for it myself, there isn't much secret
about the way the money pours in. It's the man's extraordinary luck! He
seems to have a lot of relations who are always good-naturedly going off
the hooks and leaving Wildred fortunes just when he needs them most. Old
fellows in the Antipodes, don't you know, who might really quite as well
be dead as not. It's all straight enough, of course, but the funny thing
is that if one hears one day that Wildred has come rather a cropper at
Newmarket or the Derby, or somewhere else, the news within the month is
pretty sure to be that another Johnny in Australia or elsewhere has
conveniently slipped his cable and left Wildred a cool fifty thousand or
so at the very least."

Hardly had the laughter prompted by his own words died on Driscoll's
lips, when to my astonishment the man of whom we spoke sauntered into
the room. He was looking at peace with all the world, and as nearly
handsome as it was possible for him to look, the contrast between him
and the podgy, elderly gentleman by whom he was accompanied being much
to his advantage.

"Talking of angels!" ejaculated Driscoll beneath his breath; "what do
you think of that for a coincidence?"

"Is he a member here?" I asked in an equally low voice, for I did not
wish Wildred to have the satisfaction of guessing that he had formed the
subject of conversation between me and my companion.

"No," Driscoll said, "but he often comes in with old Wigram, who's been
a great traveller, you know, and who now goes in no end for dabbli