The Century Illustrated Monthly Magazine (May 1913): Vol. LXXXVI. New Series: Vol. LXIV. May to October, 1913Various
History
The Century Illustrated Monthly Magazine (May 1913): Vol. LXXXVI. New Series: Vol. LXIV. May to October, 1913
Various
Periodicals
“Did he get into some bad mix-up, poor fellow?” If there had been
anything like that, no wonder it broke her up to think of him.
It surely did break her up. She flushed emotionally.
“The cruel thing was that he didn’t really do what he was accused of,”
she said.
“He didn’t?”
“No; but he was a ruined man, and he went away to the Klondike because
he could not stay in England. And he was killed--killed, poor boy! And
afterward it was found out that he was innocent--too late.”
“Gee!” Tembarom gasped, feeling hot and cold. “Could you beat that for
rotten luck! What was he accused of?”
Miss Alicia leaned forward and spoke in a whisper. It was too dreadful
to speak of aloud.
“Cheating at cards--a gentleman playing with gentlemen. You know what
that means.”
Tembarom grew hotter and colder. No wonder she looked that way, poor
little thing!
“But,”--He hesitated before he spoke,--“but he wasn’t that kind, was
he? Of course he wasn’t.”
“No, no. But, you see,”--She hesitated herself here,--“everything
looked so much against him. He had been rather wild.” She dropped her
voice even lower in making the admission.
Tembarom wondered how much she meant by that.
“He was so much in debt. He knew he was to be rich in the future, and
he was poor just in those reckless young days when it seemed unfair.
And he had played a great deal and had been very lucky. He was so
lucky that sometimes his luck seemed uncanny. Men who had played with
him were horrible about it afterward.”
“They would be,” put in Tembarom. “They’d be sore about it, and bring
it up.”
They both forgot their tea. Miss Alicia forgot everything as she poured
forth her story in the manner of a woman who had been forced to keep
silent and was glad to put her case into words. It was her case. To
tell the truth of this forgotten wrong was again to offer justification
of poor handsome Jem whom everybody seemed to have dropped talk of, and
even preferred not to hear mentioned.
“There were such piteously cruel things about it,” she went on. “He had
fallen very much in love, and he meant to marry and settle down. Though
we had not seen each other for years, he actually wrote to me and told
me about it. His letter made me cry. He said I would understand and
care about the thing which seemed to have changed everything and made
him a new man. He was so sorry that he had not been better and more
careful. He was going to try all over again. He was not going to play
at all after this one evening when he was obliged to keep an engagement
he had made months before to give his revenge to a man he had won a
great deal of money from. The very night the awful thing happened he
had told Lady Joan, before he went into the card-room, that this was to
be his last game.”
Tembarom had looked deeply interested from the first, but at her last
words a new alertness added itself.
“Did you say Lady Joan?” he asked. “Who was Lady Joan?”
“She was the girl he was so much in love with. Her name was Lady Joan
Fayre.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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