In spite of his vast abilities, there was nothing of bombast in Fauntleroy’s nature, nor did external evidence show that he was engaged in deadly warfare against the unpropitious fates. A gentle, unassuming man, with a quiet charm of address, he won universal regard from all with whom he came into contact. The gift of friendship, the infectious knack of social intercourse, was part of his character. Naturally, the circle in which he moved was composed of persons of refinement and, in some cases, of eminence in the commercial world. While his hand was ever open to the cry of distress, his board always had a place for those who had gained his esteem. All the leisure he could snatch seemed devoted to simple pleasures--a choice little dinner to a few kindred spirits, a holiday at his suburban villa, or a week-end visit to his house in Brighton. Though his earnest, florid face might be seen often beneath the hood of his smart cabriolet, this carriage was used principally in journeys between Berners Street and the City. In short, few business men in London were held in greater respect than this hard-working young banker, who was so like the Emperor Napoleon. Yet there was another side to the picture. Although ostensibly he lived this simple and strenuous existence, a few bosom companions knew him in another guise. Unknown to the world, those week-end parties at his villa in the suburbs were tainted and ungodly. The sweet girl who sat at the head of his table as mistress of his home had lost her maiden innocence while her fresh young beauty was in its bud, lured by the sensuous Fauntleroy almost from school. All her pretty friends belonged to the same frail sisterhood, Cyprians beyond question, though modest perhaps in demeanour and speech. And with these ‘Kates and Sues’ of the town came Fauntleroy’s intimates, ‘Toms and Jerries’ unmistakably, though possibly only in travesty, becoming sober men once more in business hours. Or one might have seen him driving past the fetid Pavilion at Brighton in his smart carriage, with its fawn-coloured lining, and have recognised in the shameless features of the flashy lady at his side the notorious ‘Corinthian Kate’ herself--in real life Mrs ‘Bang’ most ‘slap-up of ladybirds’ Then, again, at his luxurious seaside home in Western Place, with its conservatories and sumptuous billiard-room-draped as a facsimile of Napoleon’s travelling tent--his Kate’s dear friend Harriet Wilson, or other illustrious fair ones, would come to amuse his bachelor companions. Thus, in his leisure moments, the industrious Fauntleroy enjoyed secretly the life of an epicure and sensualist. Deep-buried in his soul the love of vice was ever present. “There only needed one thing to complete your equipage,” he writes, in plain _double entente_ that indicates his ruling passion, to his friend Sheriff Parkins, “instead of the man at your side, a beautiful angel!”