ound.

CHAPTER XIX

LABLACHE'S MIDNIGHT VISITOR

Lablache was alone in his office. He was more alone than he had ever
been in his life; or, at least, he felt more alone--which amounted to
much the same thing. Possibly, had he been questioned on the subject, he
would have pooh-poohed the idea, but, nevertheless, in his secret heart
he felt that, in spite of his vast wealth, he was a lonely man. He knew
that he had not a single friend in Foss River; and in Calford, another
center of his great wealth, things were no better. His methods of
business, whilst they brought him many familiar acquaintances--a large
circle of people who were willing to trade, repelled all approach to
friendship. Besides, his personality was against him. His flinty
disposition and unscrupulous love of power were all detrimental to human
affection.

As a rule, metaphorically speaking, he snapped his fingers at these
things. Moreover, he was glad that such was the case; he could the more
freely indulge his passion for grab. Hated, he could work out his
peculiar schemes without qualms of conscience; loved, it would have been
otherwise. Yes, Lablache preferred this social ostracism.

But the great money-lender had his moments of weakness--moments when he
rebelled against his solitary lot. He knew that his isolated position
had been brought about by himself--fostered by himself, and he knew he
preferred that it should be so. But, nevertheless, at times he felt very
lonely, and in these moments of weakness he wondered if he obtained full
consolation in his great wealth for his marooned position. Generally the
result of these reflections brought him satisfaction. How? is a
question. Possibly he forced himself, by that headstrong power with
which he bent others who came into contact with him to his will, to such
a conclusion. Lablache was certainly a triumph of relentless purpose
over flesh and feelings.

Lablache was nearly fifty, and had lived alone since he was in his
teens. Now he pined as all who live a solitary life must some day pine,
for a companion to share his loneliness. He craved not for the society
of his own sex. With the instinct in us all he wanted a mate to share
with him his golden nest. But this mass of iron nerve and obesity was
not as other men. He did not weakly crave, and then, with his wealth,
set out to secure a wife who could raise him in the social scale, or add
to the bags which he had watched grow in bulk from fl