ding behind
some men who were playing.

'That's something like friendship,' he exclaimed, when he saw Lord
Hartfield, and then he hooked his arm through his friend's, and led him
off to the dining room.

'Come and have some supper, old fellow,' he said, 'and I can tell you my
troubles while you are eating it. James, bring us a grill, and a
lobster, and a bottle of Mumms, number 27, you know.'

'Yes, my lord.'

'Sorry to find you in this den, Maulevrier,' said Lord Hartfield.

'Haven't touched a card. Haven't done half an hour's punting this
season. But it's a kind of habit with me to wander in here now and then.
I know so many of the members. One poor devil lost nine thousand one
night last week. Bather rough upon him, wasn't it? All ready money at
this shop, don't you know.'

'Thank God, I know nothing about it. And now, Maulevrier, what is wrong,
and with whom?'

'Everything is wrong, and with my sister Lesbia.'

'Good heavens! what do you mean?'

'Only this, that there is a fellow after her whose very name means ruin
to women--a Spanish-American adventurer--reckless, handsome, a gambler,
seducer, duellest, dare-devil. The man she is to marry seems to have
neither nous nor spunk to defend her. Everybody at Goodwood saw the game
that was being played, everybody at Cowes is watching the cards, betting
on the result. Yes, great God, the men at the Squadron Club are staking
their money upon my sister's character--even monkeys that she bolts with
Montesma--five to three against the marriage with Smithson ever coming
off.'

'Is this true.'

'It is as true as your marriage with Molly, as true as your loyalty to
me. I was told of it all this morning at the Haute Gomme by a man I can
rely upon, a really good fellow, who would not leave me in the dark
about my sister's danger when all the smoking-rooms in Pall Mall were
sniggering about it. My first impulse was to take the train for Cowes;
but then I knew if I went alone I should let my temper get the better of
me. I should knock somebody down--throw somebody out of the window--make
a devil of a scene. And this would be fatal for Lesbia. I wanted your
counsel, your cool head, your steady common-sense. "Not a step forward
without Jack," I said to myself, so I bolted off and sent that telegram.
It relieved my feeling a little, but I've had a wretched day.'

'Waiter, bring me a Bradshaw, or an A B C,' said Lord Hartfield.

He had eaten nothing but a biscuit since