Isn't it too bad." She sat there very silent, very white.

Stephen bit into another cake, angrily.
"It's the company he keeps," he said--"a lot of fast men--fast enough to be talked about, fashionable enough to be tolerated--Jack Casson is one of them, and that little ass, Arthur Wye.

_That's_ the crowd--a horse-racing, hard-drinking, hard-gambling crew." "But--he is--Mr.Berkley's circumstances--how can he do such things----" "Some idiot--even Berkley doesn't know who--took all those dead stocks off his hands.

Wasn't it the devil's own luck for Berkley to find a market in times like these ?" "But it ended him.

.