The Hundredth Chance. Ethel M. Dell

But I undertake that you will not be sorry."

      "Hullo, Jacob!" blared Sheppard's voice suddenly across the room. "What are you doing over there, you rascal? Thought I shouldn't see you, eh? Ah, you're a deep one, you are! I daresay now you've made up your mind that that young woman is a princess in disguise. She isn't. She's just my step-daughter, and a very cheap article, I assure you, Jake,--very cheap indeed!"

      The roar of laughter that greeted this sally filled the room, drowning any further remarks. Sheppard stood in the centre, swaying a little, looking round on the assembled company with a facetious grin.

      Jake Bolton rose and went to him. He stood with him for a moment, and Maud, shivering in her corner, marvelled that he did not look mean and insignificant beside the other's great bulk. She wondered what he said. It was only a few words, and they were not apparently uttered with much urgency. But Sheppard's grin died away, and she fancied that for a moment--only for a moment--he looked a little sheepish. Then he clapped a great hand upon Bolton's shoulder.

      "All right. All right. It's for you to make the running. Come along, ladies and gentlemen! Let us feed!"

      There was a general move, and a tall, lanky young man with a white face and black hair that shone like varnish slouched up to Maud.

      "I don't see why Bolton should have all the plums," he said. "May I have the honour of conducting you to the supper table?"

      She was on her feet. She looked at him with a disdain so withering that the young man wilted visibly before her.

      "No offence meant, I'm sure," he said, shuffling his feet. "But I thought--as you were being so pally with Jake Bolton--you wouldn't object to being pally with me."

      Maud said nothing. She was in fact so quivering with rage that speech would have been difficult.

      A very stout elderly lady, with a neck and arms that were hardly distinguishable from the red silk dress she wore, sailed up to them. "Come, come, Miss!" she said, beaming good-temperedly upon Maud's pale face. "We're not standing on ceremony to-night. We're all friends here. You won't mind going in with my boy Tom, I'm sure. He's considered quite the ladies' man, I can assure you."

      "Oh, excuse me, Mrs. Wright? Miss Brian is going in with me," said Jake Bolton's smooth voice behind her. "Tom, you git!"

      Somehow--before she knew it--the black-haired young man was gone from her path, and her hand lay trembling within Bolton's arm.

      She did not utter a word, she could not. She felt choked.

      Jake Bolton said nothing either. He only piloted her through the crowd with the smile of the winner curving the corners of his mouth.

      They readied the dining-room, and people began to seat themselves around a long centre table. There was no formal arrangement, and some confusion ensued in consequence.

      "Fight it out among yourselves!" yelled Sheppard above the din of laughter and movement. "Make yourselves at home!"

      Bolton glanced round. "There's a table for two in that alcove," he said. "Shall we make for that?"

      "Anywhere!" she said desperately.

      He elbowed a way for her. The table was near a window, the alcove draped with curtains. He put her into a chair where she was screened from the eyes of those at the centre table. He seated himself opposite to her.

      "Don't look so scared!" he said.

      She smiled at him faintly in silence.

      "I gather you don't enjoy this sort of bear-fight," he said.

      She remained silent. The man disconcerted her. She was burningly conscious that she had not been too discreet in taking him even so far into her confidence.

      He leaned slowly forward, fixing her with those relentless, lynx-like eyes. "Miss Brian," he said, his voice very level, faultlessly distinct. "I'm rough, no doubt, but please believe I'm white!"

      She looked at him, startled, unhappy, not knowing what to say.

      He nodded, still watching her. "Don't you forget it!" he said. "There are plenty of beasts in the world, but I'm not one of 'em. You'll drink champagne, of course."

      He got up to procure it, and Maud managed in the interval to recover some of her composure.

      When he came back, she mustered a smile and thanked him.

      "You look fagged out," he said, as he filled her glass. "What have you been doing?"

      "Getting straight in our new quarters here," she answered. "It takes some time."

      "Where are your rooms?" he asked.

      She hesitated momentarily. "It is really only one room," she said. "But it is a fine one. I have another little one upstairs; but it is a long way off. Of course I shall sleep downstairs with Bunny."

      "Do you always sleep with him?" he asked.

      She coloured a little. "Yes."

      "Is he a good sleeper?" He had moved round and was filling his own glass.

      She watched his steady hand with a touch of envy. She would have given much for as cool a nerve just then.

      "Is he a good sleeper?" He repeated the question as he set down the bottle.

      She answered it at once. "No; a very poor one."

      "And you look after him night and day?" Bolton's eyes suddenly comprehended her. "I guess that accounts for it," he said, in a tone of enlightenment.

      "For what?" She met his look haughtily, determined to hold her own.

      But he smiled and refused the contest. "For much," he said. "Now, what will you eat? Lobster? That's right. I want to see you started. What a filthy racket they are making! I hope it won't upset your appetite any."

      She had never felt less hungry in her life, but out of a queer sensation of gratitude she tried to eat what he put before her. He had certainly done his best to shield her from that objectionable crowd, but she was still by no means certain that she liked the man. He was too much inclined to take her friendship for granted, too ready to presume upon a very short acquaintance. And she was sure--quite sure now--that he had recognized her from the very first moment, down on the parade the night before. The knowledge was very disquieting. He was kind--oh, yes, he was kind. But she felt that he knew too much.

      And so a certain antagonism warred against her gratitude, and prevented any gracious expression thereof. She only longed--oh, how desperately!--to flee away from this new and horrible world into which she had been so ruthlessly dragged and to see no more of its inhabitants for ever.

      Vain longing! Even then she knew, or shrewdly suspected, that her lot was to be cast in that same world for the rest of her mortal life.

      CHAPTER VII

      THE MAGICIAN

      "Oh, Maud! I thought you were never coming!"

      Bunny's face, pale and drawn, wearing the irritable frown so habitual to it, turned towards the opening door.

      "I have brought you a visitor," his sister said.

      Her voice was low and nervous. She looked by no means sure of Bunny's reception of the news. Behind her came Jake Bolton the trainer, alert and self-assured. It was quite evident that he had no doubts whatever upon the subject. His thick mat of chestnut hair shone like copper in the brilliant electric light, such hair as would have been a woman's glory, but that Jake kept very closely cropped.

      "What on earth for?" began Bunny querulously; and then magically his face changed, and he smiled. "Hullo! You?" he said.

      Bolton came to his side and took the small, eager hand thrust out to him. "Yes, it's me," he said. "No objection, I hope?"

      "I should think not!" The boy's face was glowing with pleasure. "Sit down!" he said. "Maud, get a chair!"

      Bolton turned sharply, found her already bringing one and took it swiftly from her.

      He