It was a suggestion so purely in the spirit of a day when men betted on

every contingency, public or private, decorous or the reverse, from the

fecundity of a sister to the longevity of a sire, that it sounded less

indecent in the cars of Lord Almeric's companions than it does in ours.

Mr. Thomasson indeed, who was only so far a gamester as every man who

had pretensions to be a gentleman was one at that time, and who had

seldom, since the days of Lady Harrington's faro bank, staked more than

he could afford, hesitated and looked dubious. But Mr. Pomeroy, a

reckless and hardened gambler, gave a boisterous assent, and in the face

of that the tutor's objections went for nothing. In a trice, all the

cards and half the glasses were swept pell mell to the floor, a new pack

was torn open, the candles were snuffed, and Mr. Pomeroy, smacking him

on the back, was bidding him draw up.

'Sit down, man! Sit down!' cried that gentleman, who had regained his

jovial humour as quickly as he had lost it, and whom the prospect of the

stake appeared to intoxicate. 'May I burn if I ever played for a girl

before! Hang it! man, look cheerful, We'll toast her first--and a

daintier bit never swam in a bowl--and play for her afterwards! Come, no

heel-taps, my lord. Drink her! Drink her! Here's to the Mistress of

Bastwick!' 'Lady Almeric Doyley!' my lord cried, rising, and bowing with his hand

to his heart, while he ogled the door through which she had disappeared.

'I drink you! Here's to your pretty face, my dear!' 'Mrs. Thomasson!' cried the tutor, 'I drink to you. But--' 'But what shall it be, you mean?' Pomeroy cried briskly. 'Loo, Quinze,

Faro, Lansquenet? Or cribbage, all-fours, put, Mr. Parson, if you like!

It's all one to me. Name your game and I am your man!' 'Then let us shuffle and cut, and the highest takes,' said the tutor.

'Sho! man, where is the sport in that?' Pomeroy cried, receiving the

suggestion with disgust.

'It is what Lord Almeric proposed,' Mr. Thomasson answered. The two

glasses of wine he had taken had given him courage. 'I am no player, and

at games of skill I am no match for you.' A shadow crossed Mr. Pomeroy's face; but he recovered himself

immediately. 'As you please,' he said, shrugging his shoulders with a

show of carelessness. 'I'll match any man at anything. Let's to it!' But the tutor kept his hands on the cards, which lay in a heap face

downwards on the table. 'There is a thing to be settled,' he said,

hesitating somewhat, 'before we draw. If she will not take the

winner--what then?' 'What then?' 'Yes, what then?' Mr. Pomeroy grinned. 'Why, then number two will try his luck with her,

and if he fail, number three! There, my bully boy, that is settled. It

seems simple enough, don't it?' 'But how long is each to have?' the tutor asked in a low voice. The

three were bending over the cards, their faces near one another. Lord

Almeric's eyes turned from one to the other of the speakers.




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