"Yes--business," said Varbarriere, interrupting.
Beatrix, he was glad to observe, had gone away to the drawing-room.
"He'll be back, I hope, immediately?" continued the Baronet. "He's a fine young fellow. Egad, he's about as good-looking a young fellow as I know. I should be devilish proud of him if I were you. When does he come back to us?"
"Immediately, I hope; business, you know; but nothing very long. We are both, I fear, a very tedious pair of guests; but you have been so pressing, so hospitable----"
"Say rather, so selfish, monsieur," answered Sir Jekyl, laughing. "Our whist and cigars have languished ever since you left."
M. Varbarriere laughed a double-bass accompaniment to the Baronet's chuckle, and the dressing-bell ringing at that moment, Sir Jekyl and he parted agreeably.
Varbarriere marched slowly up, and entered his dressing-room with a "glooming" countenance and a heavy heart. Everything looked as if he had left it but half an hour ago. He poked the fire and sat down.
He felt like a surgeon with an operation before him. There was a loathing of it, but he did not flinch.
Reader, you think you understand other men. Do you understand yourself? Did you ever quite succeed in defining your own motives, and arriving at the moral base of any action you ever did? Here was Varbarriere sailing with wind and tide full in his favour, right into the haven where he would be--yet to look in his face you would have said "_there_ is a sorrowful man," and had you been able to see within, you would have said, "_there_ is a man divided against himself." Yes, as every man _is_. Several spirits, quite distinct, not blending, but pleading and battling very earnestly on opposite sides, all in possession of the "house"--but one dominant, always with a disputed sway, but always carrying his point--always the prosperous bully.
Yes, every man is a twist of many strands. Varbarriere was compacted of several Varbarrieres--one of whom was the stronger and the most infernal. His feebler associates commented upon him--despised him--feared him--sought to restrain him but knew they could not. He tyrannised, and was to the outer world the one and indivisible Varbarriere.
Monsieur Varbarriere the tyrant was about to bring about a _fracas_ that night, against which the feebler and better Varbarrieres protested. Varbarriere the tyrant held the knife over the throat of a faithless woman--the better Varbarrieres murmured words of pity and of faint remonstrance. Varbarriere the tyrant scrupled not to play the part of spy and traitor for his ends; the nobler Varbarrieres upbraided him sadly, and even despised him. But what were these feeble angelic Varbarrieres? The ruler is the state, _l'état c'est moi!_ and Varbarriere the tyrant carried all before him.