Lucius Davoren; or, Publicans and sinners, vol. 1Braddon, M. E. (Mary Elizabeth)
General
Lucius Davoren; or, Publicans and sinners, vol. 1
Braddon, M. E. (Mary Elizabeth)
Domestic fiction; Psychological fiction
‘Yes, it lasted a long time—I knowing I was cheated, yet unable to
prove it; he spending his days in sloth, his nights in dissipation,
yet every now and then, by some brilliant stroke of business,
compelling me to admire him. My customers liked him, the young men
especially; for he had all those modern ideas which were as strange
to me as a Cuneiform inscription. Somehow he brought grist to the
mill. His University friends found him out, made my shop a lounge,
borrowed my money, and paid me a protective rate of interest. We had
our quarrels—not violent and noisy, like the quarrels in which women
are concerned, but perhaps all the more lasting in their effect. Where
he went at night I knew not, until going into his room very early one
morning to wake him—there was to be a great picture-sale twenty miles
from London that day, and I wanted him to attend it—I saw some gold
and notes scattered on the table by his bedside. From that moment I
knew the worst of his vices. He was a gambler. Where he played or with
whom I never knew. I never played the spy upon him, or attempted to
get at his secrets in any underhand manner. One day I taxed him with
this vice. He shrugged his shoulders, and affected supreme candour. “I
play a little sometimes,” he said—“games of skill, not chance. It is
impossible to keep such company as I keep and not take an occasional
hand at whist or écarté. And you ought not to forget that my friends
have been profitable to you.” A year after this I had occasion to sell
a portion of my stock at Christie’s, in order to obtain ready money to
purchase the lease of premises adjoining my own—premises which would
enable me to enlarge my art gallery. The things were sold, and, a few
days afterwards, settled for. I brought home the money—between five and
six hundred pounds—locked it in my safe, impregnable even to my junior
partner, and sat down to dinner with the key in my pocket, and, as I
believed, my money secure.’
Again there was a pause, painful recollections contracting the
deeply-lined brow, gloomy thoughts clouding the eyes.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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