ber, he gave many and magnificent
entertainments, his name figured in all the great social events, he
bought a mansion in Park Lane which had been built for Royalty, and the
account of the treasures with which he filled it read like a chapter
from some modern Arabian Nights. In the city, he was more hated and
dreaded than ever. His transactions, huge and carefully thought out,
were for his own aggrandizement only, and left always in their wake ruin
and disaster for the less fortunate and weaker speculators. He played
for his own hand only, the camaraderie of finance he ignored altogether.
In one other respect, too, he occupied a unique position amongst the
financial magnates of the moment. All appeals on behalf of charity he
steadily ignored. He gave nothing away. His name never figured amongst
the hospital lists; suffering and disaster, which drew their humble
contributions from the struggling poor and middle classes, left him
unmoved and his check book unopened. In an age when huge gifts on behalf
of charity was the fashionable road to the peerage, his attitude was
all the more noticeable. He would give a thousand pounds for a piece
of Sevres china which took his fancy; he would not give a thousand
farthings to ease the sufferings of his fellows. Yet there were few
found to criticize him. He was called original, a crank; there were even
some who professed to see merit in his attitude. To both criticism and
praise he was alike indifferent. With a cynicism with seemed only to
become more bitter he pursued his undeviating and deliberate way.

One morning he met Lady Ruth on the pavement in Bond Street. She pointed
to the vacant seat in her landau.

"Get in, please, for a few minutes," she said. "I want to talk to you. I
will take you where you like."

They drove off in silence.

"You were not at the Wavertons' last night," he remarked.

"No!" she answered quietly. "I was not asked."

He glanced at her questioningly.

"I thought that you were so friendly," he said.

"I was," she answered. "Lady Waverton scarcely knows me now! It is the
beginning of the end, I suppose."

"You are a little enigmatical this morning," he declared.

"Oh, no! You understand me very well," she answered. "Everybody knows
that it is you who keep us going. Lumley has not got quite used to
taking your money. He has lost nearly all his ambition. Soon his day
will have gone by. People shrug their shoulders when they speak of us.
Two years