Miss Grantham, seeing a stranger crossing the room in Mr Crewe’s wake, looked critically at him. Trained by necessity to sum up a man quickly, she was yet hard put to it to place Mr Ravenscar. His plain coat, the absence of any jewels or furbelows, did not argue a fat bank-roll, but his air was one of unconscious assurance, as though he was accustomed to going where he chose, and doing what he pleased in any company. If at first glance she had written him down as a country bumpkin, this impression was swiftly corrected. He might be carelessly dressed, but no country tailor had fashioned that plain coat, she decided.

She turned her head towards the middle-aged exquisite leaning on the chairback. “Who is our new friend, my lord? A Puritan come amongst us?”

The exquisite languidly raised a quizzing-glass, and levelled it. Under its elaborate maquillage his thin, handsome face was curiously lined. His brows went up. “That is no Puritan,, my dear,” he said, in a light, bored voice. “It is a very fat pigeon indeed. In fact, it is Ravenscar.”

This pronouncement brought young Lord Mablethorpe’s head round with a jerk. He stared incredulously at his cousin, and ejaculated: “Max!”

There was astonishment in his tone, not unmixed with suspicion. His fair countenance flushed boyishly, making him look younger than ever, and not a little guilty. He stepped forward, saying rather defensively: “I did not expect to see you here!”

“Why not?” asked Ravenscar calmly.

“I don’t know. That is, I did not think—Do you know Lady Bellingham?”

“I am relying upon Crewe to present me to her.”

“Oh! It was Crewe who brought you!” said his lordship, a little relieved. “I thought—at least, I wondered—But it doesn’t signify!”

Mr Ravenscar eyed him with a kind of bland surprise. “You seem to be most unaccountably put-out by my arrival, Adrian. What have I done to incur your disapproval?”

Lord Mablethorpe blushed more hotly than ever, and grasped his arm in a quick, friendly gesture. “Oh, Max, you fool! Of course you haven’t done anything! Indeed, I’m very glad to see you! I want to make you known to Miss Grantham. Deb! This is my cousin, Mr Ravenscar. I daresay you will have heard of him. He is a notable gamester, I can tell you!”

Miss Deborah Grantham, encountering Mr Ravenscar’s hard grey eyes, was not sure that she liked him. She acknowledged his bow with the smallest of curtseys, and said lightly: “You are very welcome, sir, and have certainly come to the right house. You know Lord Ormskirk, I believe?”

The middle-aged exquisite and Ravenscar exchanged nods. A large, loose-Embed man, standing on the other side of the table, said, with a twinkle: “Don’t be shy, Mr Ravenscar: we’re all mighty anxious to win your money! But, I warn you, Miss Grantham’s luck is in—isn’t it, me darlin’?—and the bank’s been winning this hour and more.”

“It’s commonly the way of E.O. banks—to win,” remarked a metallic, faintly sneering voice at Ravenscar’s elbow. “Servant, Ravenscar!”

Mr Ravenscar, responding to this salutation, made a mental vow to rescue his cousin from the society into which he had been lured if he had to knock him out and kidnap him to do it. The Earl of Ormskirk, Sir James Filey, and—as a comprehensive glance round the room had informed him—all the more hardened gamesters who frequented Pall Mall and its environs were no fit companions for a youth scarcely out of swaddling-bands. It would, at that moment, have given Mr Ravenscar great pleasure to have seen Miss Grantham standing in the pillory, together with her aunt, and every other brelandiere who seduced green young men to ruin in these polite gaming-houses.

Nothing of this appeared in his face as he accepted Miss Grantham’s invitation to make his bet. E.O. tables held not the slightest lure for him, but since he had come to St James’s Square for the purpose of getting upon easy terms with Miss Grantham, and judged that the quickest way of doing this was to spend as much money as possible in her house, he spent the next half-hour punting recklessly on the spin of the table.

Meanwhile, the dowager at the faro-table, who was Lady Bellingham, had discovered his identity, and was pleasantly fluttered. One of her neighbours informed her that Ravenscar had twenty or thirty thousand pounds a year, but tempered these glad tidings by adding that he was said to have the devil’s own luck at all games of chance. If this were so, it was out tonight. Mr Ravenscar went down to the tune of five hundred guineas in the short time he spent at the E.O. table. While affecting an interest he was far from feeling in the gyrations of the little ball, he had the opportunity he sought of observing Miss Grantham. He was also obliged to observe his cousin’s lover-like attentions to the lady, a spectacle which made him feel physically unwell. Adrian’s frank blue eyes openly adored her; he paid very little attention to anyone else; and his attitude towards Lord Ormskirk reminded Ravenscar strongly of a dog guarding a bone.

Ormskirk seemed faintly amused. Several times he addressed some provocative remark to Adrian, as though he derived a sadistic pleasure from baiting the boy. Several times Adrian seemed to be on the verge of bursting into intemperate speech, but on each such occasion Miss Grantham intervened, turning his lordship’s poisoned rapier aside with considerable deftness, tossing a laughing rejoinder to him, soothing Adrian by a swift, intimate smile which seemed to assure him that between him and her there was a secret understanding which Ormskirk’s sallies could not impair.

Ravenscar allowed her to be a very clever young woman, and liked her none the better for it. She was holding two very different lovers on the lightest of reins, and so far she had not tangled the ribbons. But although Adrian might be easy to handle, Ormskirk was of another kidney, reflected Ravenscar, with grim satisfaction.

His lordship, who was nearer fifty years of age than forty, had been twice married, and was again a widower. It was popularly supposed that he had driven both his wives into their graves. He had several daughters, none yet having emerged from the schoolroom, and one son, still in short coats. His household was presided over by his sister, a colourless woman, prone to tears, which perhaps accounted for the fact of his lordship’s being so seldom to be found at home. Both his marriages had been prudent, if unexciting, and since he had for years been in the habit of seeking his pleasures in the arms of a succession of fair Cyprians, it was in the highest degree unlikely that he was contemplating a third venture into matrimony. If he were, he would not look for his new bride in a gaming-house, Mr Ravenscar knew. His designs on Miss Grantham were strictly dishonourable; and, judging by his cool air of ownership, he was very sure of her, too sure to be discomposed by the calf-love of a younger suitor.

But Ravenscar knew Ormskirk too well to feel easy in his mind. If Miss Grantham were to decide that marriage with Adrian would be better worth her while than a more elastic connexion with Ormskirk, Adrian would have acquired a very dangerous enemy. No consideration of his youth would weigh for an instant with one whose pride it was to be considered deadly either with the small-sword, or the pistol. It was perfectly well known to Ravenscar that Ormskirk had thrice killed his man in a duel; and he began to perceive that the extrication of his cousin from Miss Grantham’s toils was a matter of even greater urgency than he had at first supposed.

The third gentleman who appeared to have claims on Miss Grantham was the man who had so cheerfully hailed him upon his first approaching the table. He seemed to be on intimate terms with the lady, but was resented neither by Adrian nor by Lord Ormskirk. He was a pleasant fellow, with smiling eyes, and an engaging address. Mr Ravenscar would have been much surprised to have found that he was not a soldier of fortune. Miss Grantham called him Lucius; he called Miss Grantham his darling, with an easy familiarity that indicated long friendship, or some fonder relationship. Miss Grantham, thought Mr Ravenscar, was altogether too free with her favours.

At one in the morning she relinquished the E.O. table, calling upon Mr Lucius Kennet to take her place at it. “Ah, I’m tired, and want my supper!” she said. “My Lord, will you take me down to supper? I swear I’m famished!”

“With the greatest pleasure on earth, my dear,” said Lord Ormskirk, in his weary voice.

“Oh course I will take you down, Deb!” said Lord Mablethorpe, offering his arm.

She stood between them, laughing dismay in her eyes, looking from one to the other. “Oh, I am overwhelmed, but indeed, indeed—”

Ravenscar walked forward. “Madam, you stand between two fires! Allow me to rescue you! May I have the honour of taking you down to supper?”

“Snatching a brand from the burning?” she said, in a rallying tone. “My lords!” She swept them a deep curtsey. “Pray forgive me!”

“Mr Ravenscar wins all,” said Sir James Filey, with one of his mocking smiles. “It is the way of the world!”

There was a flash of anger in her eyes, but she pretended not to hear and passed out of the room on Ravenscar’s arm.

There were already several people in the dining-room on the ground-floor, but Ravenscar found a seat for Miss Grantham at one of the smaller tables arranged beside the wall, and, having supplied her with some pickled salmon, and a glass of iced champagne, he sat down opposite her, picked up his own knife and fork, and said: “You must allow me to tell you, Miss Grantham, that I count myself fortunate in their lordships’ misfortune.”

The corners of her mouth lifted. “That’s mighty pretty of you, sir. I had the oddest fancy that you were not much in the way of making pretty speeches.”