The Treasure of Heaven | Page 9

made rather a pet of her ever since. But beyond
giving her trinkets and bon-bons, and offering her such gaieties and
amusements as are suitable to her age and sex, I have no other
intentions concerning her."
Sir Francis took a comprehensive glance round the magnificent
drawing-room in which he now stood,--a drawing-room more like a
royal reception-room of the First Empire than a modern apartment in
the modern house of a merely modern millionaire. Then he chuckled
softly to himself, and a broad smile spread itself among the furrows of
his somewhat severely featured countenance.
"Mrs. Sorrel would be sorry if she knew that," he said. "I think--I really
think, Helmsley, that Mrs. Sorrel believes you are still in the
matrimonial market!"
Helmsley's deeply sunken eyes flashed out a sudden searchlight of keen
and quick inquiry, then his brows grew dark with a shadow of scorn.
"Poor Lucy!" he murmured. "She is very unfortunate in her mother, and
equally so in her father. Matt Sorrel never did anything in his life but
bet on the Turf and gamble at Monte Carlo, and it's too late for him to

try his hand at any other sort of business. His daughter is a nice girl and
a pretty one,--but now that she has grown from a child into a woman I
shall not be able to do much more for her. She will have to do
something for herself in finding a good husband."
Sir Francis listened with his head very much on one side. An owl-like
inscrutability of legal wisdom seemed to have suddenly enveloped him
in a cloud. Pulling himself out of this misty reverie he said abruptly:--
"Well--good-night! or rather good-morning! It's past one o'clock. Shall
I see you again before you leave town?"
"Probably. If not, you will hear from me."
"You won't reconsider the advisability of----"
"No, I won't!" And Helmsley smiled. "I'm quite obstinate on that point.
If I die suddenly, my property goes to the Crown,--if not, why then you
will in due course receive your instructions."
Vesey studied him with thoughtful attention.
"You're a queer fellow, David!" he said, at last. "But I can't help liking
you. I only wish you were not quite so--so romantic!"
"Romantic!" Helmsley looked amused. "Romance and I said good-bye
to each other years ago. I admit that I used to be romantic--but I'm not
now."
"You are!" And Sir Francis frowned a legal frown which soon
brightened into a smile. "A man of your age doesn't want to be loved
for himself alone unless he's very romantic indeed! And that's what you
do want!--and that's what I'm afraid you won't get, in your position--not
as this world goes! Good-night!"
"Good-night!"
They walked out of the drawing-room to the head of the grand staircase,
and there shook hands and parted, a manservant being in waiting to

show Sir Francis to the door. But late as the hour was, Helmsley did not
immediately retire to rest. Long after all his household were in bed and
sleeping, he sat in the hushed solitude of his library, writing many
letters. The library was on a line with the drawing-room, and its one
window, facing the Mall, was thrown open to admit such air as could
ooze through the stifling heat of the sultry night. Pausing once in the
busy work of his hand and pen, Helmsley looked up and saw the bright
star he had watched from the upper balcony, peering in upon him
steadily like an eye. A weary smile, sadder than scorn, wavered across
his features.
"That's Venus," he murmured half aloud. "The Eden star of all very
young people,--the star of Love!"
CHAPTER II
On the following evening the cold and frowning aspect of the mansion
in Carlton House Terrace underwent a sudden transformation. Lights
gleamed from every window; the strip of garden which extended from
the rear of the building to the Mall, was covered in by red and white
awning, and the balcony where the millionaire master of the dwelling
had, some few hours previously, sat talking with his distinguished legal
friend, Sir Francis Vesey, was turned into a kind of lady's bower, softly
carpeted, adorned with palms and hothouse roses, and supplied with
cushioned chairs for the voluptuous ease of such persons of opposite
sexes as might find their way to this suggestive "flirtation" corner. The
music of a renowned orchestra of Hungarian performers flowed out of
the open doors of the sumptuous ballroom which was one of the many
attractions of the house, and ran in rhythmic vibrations up the stairs,
echoing through all the corridors like the sweet calling voices of fabled
nymphs and sirens, till, floating still higher, it breathed itself out to the
night,--a night curiously heavy and sombre, with a blackness of