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Page 3
She did not want to marry a title; she did not want to marry money; she
did not want to marry at all. Poor kindly dad, who believed that she
could be made happy only by marrying a title. As if she was not as
happy now as she was ever destined to be!
Voices. Two men were speaking near the curb-door. She turned her head
involuntarily in this direction. There were no lights in the frontage
before which stood her cab, which intervened between the Brocken haze
in the street, throwing a square of Stygian shadow against the fog,
with right and left angles of aureola. She could distinguish no shapes.
"Cheer up, old top; you're in hard luck."
"I'm a bally ass."
"No, no; only a ripping good sporty game all the way through."
Oddly enough, Kitty sensed the irony. She wondered if the speaker's
companion did.
"Well, a wager's a wager."
"And you're the last chap to welch a square bet. What's the odds? My
word, I didn't urge you to change the stakes."
"Didn't you?"
The voice was young and pleasant; and Kitty was sure that the owner's
face was even as pleasant as his voice. What had he wagered and lost?
"If you're really hard pressed. . . ."
"Hard pressed! Man, I've nothing in God's world but two guineas, six."
"Oh, I say now!"
"Its the truth."
"If a fiver will help you. . . ."
"Thanks. A wager's a wager. I've lost. I was a bally fool to play
cards. Deserve what I got. Six months; that's the agreement. A
madman's wager; but I'll stick."
"Six months; twelve o'clock, midnight, November thirteenth. It's the
date, old boy; that's what hoodooed you, as the Americans say."
Kitty wasn't sure that the speaker was English; if he was, he had lost
the insular significance of his vowels. Still, it was, in its way, as
pleasant a voice as the other's. There was no doubt about the younger
man; he was English to the core, English in his love of chance, English
in his loyalty to his word; stupidly English. That he was the younger
was a trifling matter to deduce: no young man ever led his elder into
mischief, harmful or innocuous.
"Six months. It's a joke, my boy; a great big laugh for you and me,
when there's nothing left in life but toddies and churchwardens. Six
months."
"I dare say I can hang on till that time is over. Well, good night!
No letters, no addresses."
"Exact terms. Six months from date I'll be cooling my heels in your
ante-room."
"Cavenaugh, if it's anything else except a joke. . . ."
"Oh, rot! It was your suggestion. I tell you, it's a lark, nothing
more. A gentleman's word."
"I'll start for my diggings."
"Ride home with me; my cab's here somewhere."
"No, thanks. I've got a little thinking to do and prefer to be alone.
Good night."
"And good luck go with you. Deuce take it, if you feel so badly. . . ."
There was no reply; and Kitty decided that the younger man had gone on.
Silence; or rather, she no longer heard the speakers. Then a low
chuckle came to her and this chuckle broadened into ironic laughter;
and she knew that Mephisto was abroad. What had been the wager; and
what was the meaning of the six months? It is instinctive in woman to
interpret the human voice correctly, especially when the eyes are not
distracted by physical presentations. This man outside, whoever and
whatever he was, deep in her heart Kitty knew that he was not going to
play fair. What a disappointing world it was!--to set these human
voices ringing in her ears, and then to take them out of her life
forever!
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