Jack Pomfret and Norah Burton seemed dim memories in those strenuous times of the world's upheaval. And yet, when he had a moment's leisure to think of the past, he felt a savage longing to be even with that fair-faced, smiling adventuress who had driven his poor young friend to a suicide's grave. CHAPTER VIII |It's a good proposition, old man. You couldn't employ a couple of hours better. I have been in London Society of all sorts for the best part of my life, and I tell you that Stella Keane is the most charming girl I have ever met." The speaker was little Tommy Esmond, short, genial, and rotund of person. Tommy knew everybody who was anybody, and everybody knew the mercurial Tommy. Guy Spencer puffed leisurely at his cigar, and regarded his rotund little friend with an amused smile. Spencer was about thirty, Tommy was old enough to be his father. But he wore well. "Most excellent Tommy, how many times have I heard you say the same thing? Every girl you come across is the most charming you have ever met--until one sees you the next week. And then, the last girl has the super-charm--like the young lady you just mentioned, Miss Stella Keane." But Esmond was not to be rebuffed by a clumsy attempt at humour on the part of a young man so much his junior. Besides, Tommy was impervious to humour. It fell off him, like water from a duck's back. In his way he was a very strenuous little man, he had no time to frivol. "Don't try to be funny, old man: it doesn't suit you. Be sensible, and come round with me to Mrs. L'Estrange's flat and be introduced to Miss Keane." "It's an interesting suggestion, Tommy, but before I decide tell me first--who is Mrs. L'Estrange, and secondly, who and what is Miss Keane?" And Tommy Esmond launched forth on a full flow of narrative. Mrs. L'Estrange was the first cousin of a well-known Irish earl, and was--well, in somewhat reduced circumstances, and had a snug little flat in the Cadogan district. "Mrs. L'Estrange is quite satisfactorily explained," remarked Guy, interrupting his rather voluble friend. "Now what do you really know about Miss Keane?" Here, Esmond was a little less precise. Mrs. L'Estrange he knew quite well, had known her ever since he had been in London; her ancestry and connections were unimpeachable. Miss Keane, it would appear, had been suddenly projected into the L'Estrange household, as it were, from space. He understood that she was a distant connection, a far-off cousin, but he could give no particulars. Tommy, with the born instinct of the true diplomatist, was always ready to present everything in its best light, but he lacked the one essential quality of the born diplomatist--he was not very successful when he came to camouflaging facts. Spencer's smile was more amused than ever, as he regarded his genial friend. Spencer was only thirty, and Tommy was at least old enough to be his father. But there were times when the younger man thought he saw more clearly than the elder.