who, clearing his throat with a loud "Hem!" began to read forthwith:

"'Vauban, in his instructions on the siege of Aeth, giveth notice of
sundry salient angles all fortified, the most open by bastions, the
others, and those of at least ninety degrees, by demi-bastions...'"

CHAPTER XXXII

FLINT AND STEEL

The Major, puffing thoughtfully at his pipe and hearkening to Sir
Benjamin's ponderous witticisms, kept his sharp eyes on the
card-players opposite, Mr. Marchdale flushed and eager, the Marquis
smiling and good-humoured, Lord Alvaston sleepy as usual and Mr.
Dalroyd blandly imperturbable.

"Then, my dear sir, I gather you judge well o' that little flight o'
mine t'other night?" enquired Sir Benjamin, "I mean the acrostic
alliterative, how did it go----"

'Bewitching Bet, by bounteous beauty blessed'--

you think well on't, Major, eh?"

"Indeed sir, 'twas very ingenious."

"Od's body, sir, I think you've a judgment to be commended, I venture
to opine it was ingenious--and therewith not lacking in wit, sir?"

"By no means, Sir Benjamin."

"To be sure the last line might be bettered, though it cost me a world
o' thought. 'Twas if I remember:

'Yea you, yourself to yearn as beauty ought.'

Yet od's my life sir! I fail to see how it should be bettered. Y is
an awkward, stubborn, damned implacable letter at best, sir."

"Truly a most awkward letter, Sir Benjamin."

Here Mr. Marchdale slammed down his cards petulantly.

"So!" he exclaimed, "that makes another fifteen guineas!"

"Twenty-five, my dear Marchdale!" smiled Mr. Dalroyd, taking up a new
pack.

"How much ha' you lost, Alton?"

"Nothing much Tony, only ten or so."

"And you, Alvaston?"

"Nay I'm 'n odd guinea or so t' th' good, s' far," yawned his lordship.

"May I perish," exclaimed Mr. Marchdale, "but you and Dalroyd have all
the luck, as usual!"

"I--I in luck?" exclaimed Alvaston, his sleepy eyes wider than usual,
"stint y'r dreams and babble not, Tony! Whoe'er saw me win? Never had
any measure o' luck since I was breeched, or before. And talking o'
luck, Major, how goeth Merivale, how's poor Tom since his spill
yesterday?"

"Bruised and sore, sir, but no worse, thank God. He'll be about again
in a day or so."

"Tom rides like--like the devil, strike me blue if he don't!" said the
Marquis.

"And just as reckless!" added Dalroyd.

"Aye, but here was none o' that. His horse balked a fence, rapped and
went dow