Lord Hartfield was not fond of the Cerberus, and indeed deemed that lively place of rendezvous a very dangerous sphere for his friend Maulevrier; but in the face of Maulevrier’s telegram there was no time to be lost, so he walked across Piccadilly and down St. James’s Street to the fashionable little club, where the men were dropping in after the theatres and dinners, and where sheafs of bank notes were being exchanged for those various coloured counters which represented divers values, from the respectable ‘pony’ to the modest ‘chip.’

Maulevrier was in the first room Hartfield looked into, standing behind some men who were playing.

‘That’s something like friendship,’ he exclaimed, when he saw Lord Hartfield, and then he hooked his arm through his friend’s, and led him off to the dining room.

‘Come and have some supper, old fellow,’ he said, ’and I can tell you my troubles while you are eating it.  James, bring us a grill, and a lobster, and a bottle of Mumms, number 27, you know.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Sorry to find you in this den, Maulevrier,’ said Lord Hartfield.

’Haven’t touched a card.  Haven’t done half an hour’s punting this season.  But it’s a kind of habit with me to wander in here now and then.  I know so many of the members.  One poor devil lost nine thousand one night last week.  Bather rough upon him, wasn’t it?  All ready money at this shop, don’t you know.’

’Thank God, I know nothing about it.  And now, Maulevrier, what is wrong, and with whom?’

‘Everything is wrong, and with my sister Lesbia.’

‘Good heavens! what do you mean?’

’Only this, that there is a fellow after her whose very name means ruin to women—­a Spanish-American adventurer—­reckless, handsome, a gambler, seducer, duellest, dare-devil.  The man she is to marry seems to have neither nous nor spunk to defend her.  Everybody at Goodwood saw the game that was being played, everybody at Cowes is watching the cards, betting on the result.  Yes, great God, the men at the Squadron Club are staking their money upon my sister’s character—­even monkeys that she bolts with Montesma—­five to three against the marriage with Smithson ever coming off.’

‘Is this true.’

’It is as true as your marriage with Molly, as true as your loyalty to me.  I was told of it all this morning at the Haute Gomme by a man I can rely upon, a really good fellow, who would not leave me in the dark about my sister’s danger when all the smoking-rooms in Pall Mall were sniggering about it.  My first impulse was to take the train for Cowes; but then I knew if I went alone I should let my temper get the better of me.  I should knock somebody down—­throw somebody out of the window—­make a devil of a scene.  And this would be fatal for Lesbia.  I wanted your counsel, your cool head, your steady common-sense.  “Not a step forward without Jack,” I said to myself, so I bolted off and sent that telegram.  It relieved my feeling a little, but I’ve had a wretched day.’