There was a sensation, because, incredible though the thing was, it had
to be believed. Denry himself was not the least astounded person in the
crowded, smoky room. To him, it had been like somebody else talking, not
himself. But, as always when he did something crucial, spectacular, and
effective, the deed had seemed to be done by a mysterious power within
him, over which he had no control.

This particular deed was quixotic, enormously unusual; a deed assuredly
without precedent in the annals of the Five Towns. And he, Denry, had
done it. The cost was prodigious, ridiculously and dangerously beyond
his means. He could find no rational excuse for the deed. But he had
done it. And men again wondered. Men had wondered when he led the
Countess out to waltz. That was nothing to this. What! A smooth-chinned
youth giving houses away--out of mere, mad, impulsive generosity.

And men said, on reflection, "Of course, that's just the sort of thing
Machin _would_ do!" They appeared to find a logical connection
between dancing with a Countess and tossing a house or so to a poor
widow. And the next morning every man who had been in the Sports Club
that night was remarking eagerly to his friends: "I say, have you heard
young Machin's latest?"

And Denry, inwardly aghast at his own rashness, was saying to himself:
"Well, no one but me would ever have done that!"

He was now not simply a card; he was _the_ card.



CHAPTER III