Adrien Leroy

"I daresay," Mortimer commented dryly. "He's fool enough for anything.

The place runs him into eight thousand a year as it is--not including

Ada Lester, the lady manager--so he might just as well hand it over to

her altogether. I wish to goodness the wretched building would burn

down! 'Pon my word, I shall set it alight myself one fine night----"

"Hush! Here he is," said Lord Standon; adding quickly, "with Vermont, of

course."

The others looked round towards the new-comers. One was a dark-haired

man of about forty years of age. His face was pale, with an almost

unhealthy pallor, from which his small dark eyes glittered restlessly;

his thin lips, tightly closed, were set in an almost straight line.

Clean-shaven, sleek of hair, he wore an expression of cautious slyness

that implied a mental attitude ever on guard against some sudden

exposure of his real feelings. Such was Jasper Vermont.

His companion was of a different calibre. Still apparently in the early

thirties, tall, and with clear-cut aristocratic features, he was

decidedly good to look upon. His face, fair as that of a woman, was

perhaps slightly marred by the expression of weakness which lurked round

the finely-moulded lips; but for all that it was stamped with the latent

nobility which characterised his race.

The Hon. Adrien Leroy, only son of Baron Barminster, was one of the most

noted figures in fashionable society. His father, who since the death of

Lady Barminster had lived almost as a recluse, spent the days in the old

Castle, and had practically abdicated in favour of his son. So that the

colossal income accruing from the coal mines of Wales, the rentals of

the Leroy estates in the Southern Counties, and the ground rents of a

considerable acreage in one of the most fashionable parts of London, all

passed through the hands of Adrien, who, in his turn, spent it like

water, leaving Jasper Vermont--his one-time college friend and now his

confidential steward--to watch over his affairs.

Leroy, with a genial smile of greeting for all, but a grave, almost

weary expression in his blue eyes, parried the numerous questions and

invitations that beset him on all sides, and, taking Vermont's arm, drew

him towards the table where his three friends awaited him.

"I'm sorry we're late," he said in a pleasant voice, which was clear and

unaffected, in strong contrast to the chatter which buzzed round him at

their entry. "Blame Jasper, who, if he is as hungry as I am, is punished

already."

His good-humoured laugh as he seated himself drew echoes from his

friends; Leroy's popularity was never more apparent than in a gathering

of this sort, composed exclusively of his own sex.