Mr. Longcluse lowered his eyes as he leaned against the wall and sighed, with a pained smile, that even upon his plain, pallid face, was pathetic. Did proud Richard Arden perceive the devotion of the dubious Longcluse--undefined in position, in history, in origin, in character, in all things but in wealth? Of course he did, perfectly. But that wealth was said to be enormous. There were Jews, who ought to know, who said he was worth one million eight hundred thousand pounds, and that his annual income was considerably more than a hundred thousand pounds a year. Was a man like that to be dismissed without inquiry? Had he not found him good-natured and gentlemanlike? What about those stories circulated among Jews and croupiers? Enemies might affect to believe them, and quote the old saw, "There is never smoke without fire;" but dare one of them utter a word of the kind aloud? Did they stand the test of five minutes' inquiry, such even as he had given them? Had he found a particle of proof, of evidence, of suspicion? Not a spark. What man had ever escaped stories who was worth forging a lie about? Here was a man worth more than a million. Why, if _he_ let him slip through his fingers, some duchess would pounce on him for her daughter. It was well that Longcluse was really in love--well, perhaps, that he did not appreciate the social omnipotence of money. "Where is Sir Reginald at present?" asked Lady May. "Not here, you may be sure," answered Richard. "My father does not admit my visits, you know." "Really! And is that miserable quarrel kept up still?" "Only too true. He is in France at present; at Vichy--ain't it Vichy?" he said to Alice. But she, not choosing to talk, said simply, "Yes--Vichy." "I'm going to take Alice into town again; she has promised to stay with me a little longer. And I think you neglect her a little, don't you? You ought to come and see her a little oftener," pleaded Lady May, in an undertone. "I only feared I was boring you all. Nothing, _you_ know, would give me half so much pleasure," he answered. "Well, then, she'll expect your visits, mind." A little silence followed. Richard was vexed with his sister; she was, he thought, snubbing his friend Longcluse. Well, when once he had spoken his mind and disclosed his treasures, Richard flattered himself he had some influence; and did not Lady May swear by Mr. Longcluse? And was his father, the most despotic and violent of baronets, and very much dipt, likely to listen to sentimental twaddle pleading against a hundred thousand a year? So, Miss Alice, if you were disposed to talk nonsense, it was not very likely to be listened to, and sharp and short logic might ensue. How utterly unconscious of all this she sits there, thinking, I daresay, of quite another person! Mr. Longcluse was also for a moment in profound reverie; so was Richard Arden. The secrecy of thought is a pleasant privilege to the thinker--perhaps hardly less a boon to the person pondered upon.