n with him. Brute'll kill him yet, damme if he don't!"

"Talking o' luck," pursued Alvaston, sorting his cards lazily, "never
had any measure of it yet, either with cards, dice, horses or the sex.
An' talkin' o' the sex, Tony my lad, what of its brightest and most
particular, what of Bet, how speeds th' wooing?" Mr. Marchdale swore
earnestly. "Oho!" murmured Alvaston, "doth she prove so cold and
indifferent----"

"Neither one nor t'other, but I must ha' more time."

"Three days must suffice, Tony, 'twas so agreed. After you comes Ben
and after Ben, Jasper and then after Jasper, West, with poor Ned and me
left nowhere."

"Aye, but damme," quoth the Marquis, "what o' Dalroyd here?"

"Aye, where d'you come, Dalroyd?" queried Alvaston.

Mr. Dalroyd's nostrils worked and his white teeth gleamed. "I come
nowhere, anywhere or everywhere," he answered, surveying his hearers
beneath lowered eyelids. "A free-lance in love, I--to woo precisely
how and where and--when, I choose." Here for an infinitesimal space of
time his keen eye rested on the Major.

"You always were such a dem'd dumb dog!" quoth the Marquis.

"Close as 'n oyster!" murmured Alvaston.

"And he's lucky in cards and love, which ain't fair," grumbled Mr.
Marchdale. "I've heard whispers of a handsome farmer's daughter not a
hundred miles hence--eh, Dalroyd?"

"'Tis your turn to lead, Marchdale!" said Mr. Dalroyd, his lips a
little grim.

"My fellow swears he saw you only t'other night--dev'lish late--with an
armful o' loveliness----"

"You should kick your fellow for impertinence, Marchdale, and 'tis your
turn to lead!"

"I'll be curst if I know what, then!" he exclaimed, slapping down a
card at random. "There's Bet, now--and but one more day to win her!
Who might win such a goddess in a day, 'tis preposterous----"

"I've heard," smiled Mr. Dalroyd, "yes, I've heard of women being won
in less. And as to goddesses, Endymion sighed not vainly nor over
long."

"Why as to that I progress--O I progress!" nodded Mr. Marchdale with
youthful assertiveness, "she's all witching laughter and affection----"

"Unhappy wight!" exclaimed Mr. Dalroyd.

"Eh?" exclaimed Mr. Marchdale, wine-glass at lip, "How so?"

"Kind Venus save me from affection feminine!" smiled Dalroyd, "Where
affection is passion is not. So give me burning love or passionate
hate and she is mine."

"Od Dalroyd," interposed Sir Benjamin indignantly, "I say od's my life,
sir, her