"They call this pleasure, Jasper," he said, almost scornfully, watching
the struggling, aristocratic crowd with a half-contemptuous smile on his
lips. "Why, it's hard work. They fight and push for the sake of a few
hours spent in a crowded, poisoned room; and there's no prophet to rise
up and proclaim it madness."
"No," laughed Vermont cynically; "prophets nowadays have no liking for
being stoned; and, after all, life would be unendurable, were it not for
its pleasures. Let me remind you that it is nearly four o'clock, and you
are due at Lord Standon's rooms."
With a sigh Leroy turned and jumped into the motor, followed by his
faithful squire; and the powerful car hooted its way through the
twilight of the dawn.
They reached Lord Standon's chambers, to find the finish of a theatre
party. The room was filled with beautiful women, mostly stars of the
musical comedy stage, including Ada Lester, who was evidently on her
best behaviour.
Here, amidst light and laughter, the goddess of pleasure was being feted
by her youthful worshippers, and none appeared a more eager votary than
Adrien Leroy. Yet, as he stood, champagne glass in hand, propounding the
toast of the evening--or rather morning, for the dawn was breaking in
the sky--there was none to tell him of the impending cloud of treachery
that hung over his head.
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