your
Lordship will think more of, to back my opinion by a bet."

"By Jove! that is news!" said the Viscount, leaning his head on the
chimney to reflect. "You are such a slippery dog, Master Jekyl, you have
so many turnings and windings in you, one is never quite sure with you;
but supposing now, for argument's sake, that one thought of making this
fair damsel a peeress, is there no hitch in the affair no screw loose
that one ought to look to?"

"In her birth, my Lord?"

"No; d--n her birth! I mean about the tin."

"I believe, my Lord, that I can save you all speculation on the subject
when I say that pursuit would be hopeless there. The Midchekoff has
gained the start, and must win in a canter."

"That Tartar fellow! nonsense, man; I know better than that. He 'll
never marry anything under royalty; the fellow's mother was a serf, and
he must wash that spot out of his blood whenever he can."

"You are mistaken, my Lord. He only waits to be certain of being
accepted, to offer himself."

"Refuse him!" said Norwood, laughing, "there's not that girl in Europe
would refuse him. If every decoration he wore on his breast were a
stripe of the knout upon his back, his wealth would cover all."

"The Prince would give half his fortune to be assured of all you say, my
Lord," said Jekyl, gravely.

"By Jove! one might make a good thing of it, even that way," said
Norwood, half aloud. "I say, Jekyl," added he, louder, "how much are you
to have? nay, nay, man, there 's no impertinence in the question, we are
both too much men of the world for that. It 's quite clear that this is
your scheme. Now, what 's the damage?"

"My Lord, you are as flattering to my abilities as unjust to my
character."

"We 'll suppose all that said," broke in Norwood, impatiently; "and now
we come back to the original question, whether I cannot afford to be
as liberal as the Russian. Only be explicit, and let us understand each
other."

"My Lord, I will not insult myself by believing I comprehend you;" said
Jekyl, calmly.

And before Norwood could detain him he left the room.

"Jekyl, come back, man! just hear me out you've mistaken me! Confound
the cur," muttered the Viscount, "with his hypocritical affectation as
if I did not know his metier as well as I know my bootmaker's."

Norwood walked noiselessly to the door of the salon and peeped in.
Lady Hester, the Prince, and Jekyl were in earnest conversation in
one quarter; while Kate sat apa