The Corinthian Read Online Free PDF Page A

unfeeling, I dare say, but you will do me the justice to admit that I have not stooped to unworthy pretence. Our situation is peculiar, which is why I overcame my reluctance to discuss the question of our marriage with you. We have been as good as betrothed these five years, and more.'
    He took her hand. 'Have you considered yourself betrothed to me these five years?' he enquired.
    For the first time in their interview her eyes failed to meet his. 'Certainly,' she replied.
    'I see,' said Sir Richard, and took his leave of her.
    He put in a belated appearance at Almack's that evening. No one, admiring his point-de-vice appearance, or listening to his lazy drawl, could have supposed him to be on the eve of making the most momentous decision of his life. Only his uncle, rolling into the club some time after midnight, and observing the dead men at his elbow, guessed that the die had been cast. He told George Trevor, whom he found just rising from the basset-table, that Ricky was taking it hard, a pronouncement which distressed George, and made him say: 'I have not exchanged two words with him. Do you tell me he has actually offered for Melissa Brandon?'
    'I'm not telling you anything,' said Lucius. 'All I say is that he's drinking hard and plunging deep.'
    In great concern, George seized the first opportunity that offered of engaging his brother-in-law's attention. This was not until close on three o'clock, when Sir Richard at last rose from the pharaoh-table, and Sir Richard was not, by that time, in the mood for private conversation. He had lost quite a large sum of money, and had drunk quite a large quantity of brandy, but neither of these circumstances was troubling him.
    'No luck, Ricky?' his uncle asked him.
    A somewhat hazy but still perfectly intelligent glance mocked him. 'Not at cards, Lucius. But think of the adage!'
    George knew that Sir Richard could carry his wine as well as any man of his acquaintance, but a certain reckless note in his voice alarmed him. He plucked at his sleeve, and said in a lowered tone: 'I wish you will let me have a word with you!'
    'Dear George—my very dear George!' said Sir Richard, amiably smiling. 'You must be aware that I am not—quite—sober. No words to-night.'
    'I shall come round to see you in the morning, then,' said George, forgetting that it was already morning.
    'I shall have the devil of a head,' said Sir Richard.
    He made his way out of the club, his curly-brimmed hat at an angle on his head, his ebony cane tucked under one arm. He declined the porter's offer to call up a chair, remarking sweetly: 'I am devilish drunk, and I shall walk.'
    The porter grinned. He had seen many gentlemen in all the various stages of inebriety, and he did not think that Sir Richard, who spoke with only the faintest slurring of his words, and who walked with quite wonderful balance, was in very desperate straits. If he had not known Sir Richard well, he would not, he thought, have seen anything amiss with him, beyond his setting off in quite the wrong direction for St James's Square. He felt constrained to call Sir Richard's attention to this, but begged pardon when Sir Richard said: 'I know. The dawn is calling me, however. I am going for a long, long walk.'
    'Quite so, sir,' said the porter, and stepped back.
    Sir Richard, his head swimming a little from sudden contact with the cool air, strolled aimlessly away in a northerly direction.
    His head cleared after a while. In a detached manner, he reflected that it would probably begin to ache in a short time, and he would feel extremely unwell, and not a little sorry for himself. At the moment, however, while the fumes of brandy still wreathed about his brain, a curious irresponsibility possessed him. He felt reckless, remote, divorced from his past and his future. The dawn was spreading a grey light over the quiet streets, and the breeze fanning his cheeks was cool, and fresh enough to make him glad of his light evening cloak. He wandered into