"You are a happy philosopher," said the lawyer, and with a wave of the hand the interview ended.
Paul departed in a more than reflective mood.
CHAPTER IX.
DECIDED BY LOT.
It was evening, and three of the most prominent men of New York City confronted each other at the residence of the sculptress. Milton Wayland, a noted stock broker, Edmund Connors, a successful politician, and Iago Doane, an editor, formed the trio.
"I trust," said Wayland, "we may now and forever settle the question of superiority at whist."
"I did not come here to play whist tonight," said Connors, frankly and boldly.
"Pray, then," said the editor, with ill-concealed sarcasm, "what brought you here?"
"Are you my father confessor?" said the politician.
"No," replied Doane, "I have enough agonies of my own; nor would I like to hold in my soul the knowledge of all your evil deeds."
"Do you think a politician is worse than an editor?" said Connors.
"Frankly speaking," said Doane, "no. The difference in our deception of the public lies in the method only."
The men were evidently ill at ease, but all laughed at Doane's boldness.
