But he had not only lost all of his
money and more besides, which he could never make up, but he had lost
other things which meant much more to him now than money, and which
could not be made up or paid back at even usurious interest. He had
not only lost the right to sit at his father's table, but the right to
think of the girl whose place in Surrey ran next to that of his own
people, and whose lighted window in the north wing he had watched on
those many dreary nights when she had been ill, from his own terrace
across the trees in the park. And all he had gained was the notoriety
that made him a by-word with decent people, and the hero of the race-
tracks and the music-halls. He was no longer "Young Harringford, the
eldest son of the Harringfords of Surrey," but the "Goodwood Plunger,"
to whom Fortune had made desperate love and had then jilted, and
mocked, and overthrown.
As he looked back at it now and remembered himself as he was then, it
seemed as though he was considering an entirely distinct and separate
personage--a boy of whom he liked to think, who had had strong,
healthy ambitions and gentle tastes. He reviewed it passionlessly as
he stood staring at the lights inside the Casino, as clearly as he was
capable of doing in his present state and with miserable interest.
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