The Viscount stared at him. “Dash it, what’s that to say to anything?” he demanded. “It’s my home, ain’t it? Good God, there’s been a Verelst at Sheringham Place since I don’t know when, and not even my grandfather sold a foot of land, and if ever there was a loose screw it was he! Because I don’t happen to like the place — ” He stopped suddenly, remembering his boyhood, before the descent of his Uncle Paulett upon his home, recalling companionable rides about the estate with his father, stolen days with an old fowling-piece, a hundred pleasant memories. He flushed. “Besides, I do care for the place!” he said shortly.

Mr Stoke cast down his eyes that all at once held a good deal of satisfaction. “Your lordship finds life in the country a trifle slow,” he said.

“Yes, well — well, that ain’t to say that I don’t mean to settle down presently! In any event, I won’t sell my land, so let me hear no more of that!”

“It is my duty to warn your lordship that if your present rate of expenditure is maintained, your lordship will have no choice in the matter,” said Mr Stoke.

“Nonsense! I don’t deny I am a trifle scorched this year, but I shall come about!” Sherry said, in a tone that forbade further discussion.

But the shocking thought put into his mind by his man of business refused to be quite banished, and actually cost his lordship an hour’s sleep. A heavy plunge on an outsider, backed on the advice of the ubiquitous Jason, did much to raise his spirits, and he told that very safe man at the corner, Jerry Cloves, as he collected his winnings at Tattersall’s, that he had best look out for himself now, as the luck had turned. Jerry grinned, and wished his noble patron the best of good fortune, but fortune still appeared to be a little fickle, for his lordship lost a large sum at Watier’s that very evening, and was so much exasperated that he threatened to forswear macao altogether.

He had barely recovered from the gloomy reflections provoked by this unsuccessful evening when he received a visit from the Honourable Prosper Verelst, who caught him on the steps of his house, just as he was preparing to saunter down to White’s, and bore him inexorably back into the house.

“For you need not suppose, my boy, that I’ve put myself to the trouble of coming to see you only to have you slip off like that!” said Prosper.

“What the deuce brings you to see me?” asked his undutiful nephew, ushering him into the library behind the dining-room.

“Fond of you, Sherry: always was!” replied Prosper, lowering himself into a deep armchair. “If you have some of that madeira left which I gave you, I’ll take a glass.”

His lordship tugged at the bellpull. “That’s all very well, but you don’t have to come to see me just when I was about to join a party of friends!” he objected.

“Yes, I do, because you’re never at home,” said Prosper. “How badly were you dipped at Watier’s last night, Sherry?”

Sherry swung round to face him. “What the devil has it to do with you if I was, Prosper?” he demanded dangerously.

“Don’t get into a miff now! Damme, I was one of your trustees up till a month or so ago!”

“And a devilish bad one too!” retorted Sherry.

“Well, never mind that! Been hearing tales of your doings, my boy. Too deep! Much too deep!”

“That comes mighty well from you, sir!”

“Nothing to do with the case. I’m a single man, for one thing, and for another I’m a gamester. Fact is, you ain’t, Sherry.”

“What?” gasped his lordship, touched on the raw.

Prosper shook his head. “Never met a worse one,” he said. “Your heart’s not in it. Queer thing, when you consider the way my father — However, I’m bound to say your own father was no hand at play. Dare say you take after him. You’re a young fool, boy, because it’s my belief you only go to those rubbishing hells of yours out of — ” He broke off as Jason came into the room, and exclaimed in accents of horror: “Don’t tell me you have that fellow in the house! Damme, you might have warned me, Sherry! I’ve left my drab Benjamin in the hall, and there’s my snuffbox in one pocket, and — ”

“Give it to me!” said Sherry briefly, holding out his hand.

Jason sniffed, and reminded his master that he was keeping his fambles clean until Christmas, when the missus had promised him a tattler as good as Mr Fakenham’s.

“Yes, that’s true enough,” said Sherry. “No need to worry your head about Jason until after Christmas, sir. What the deuce are you doing here, Jason?

Where’s Groombridge?”

“In his altitudes,” responded the Tiger promptly. “A-snoring fit to bring the plaster down, he is.”

“Drunk?” ejaculated his lordship. “The devil! I thought he never touched liquor! Where’s Bootle?”

“Gorn out. What do you expect, guv’nor, when you said you was going yourself? They’ll look as queer as Dick’s hatband, they will, the silly chubs, when I tells ’em you was at home all the time. What was you a-ringing for?”

“A pretty state of affairs!” said his lordship wrathfully. “Fetch me the madeira out of the dining-room, and a couple of glasses, Jason! And don’t tell me you don’t know it when you see it, because I’ll lay my life you do!”

“Well, I do, then,” said the henchman, with dignity. “I knows all the rum-bubs, but mind, now, guv’nor! I ain’t no bingo-boy, so don’t you go a-setting it about you ever seen me with the malt above the water, because you ain’t!” With this admonition, he left the room, returning in a few minutes with a decanter in one hand, and two wine glasses in the other. These he planted on the table without ceremony. He then withdrew, turning back in the doorway to inform the Honourable Prosper that his greatcoat pockets contained various other items besides his snuffbox, and that if he did not desire to be bled by a bite he would do well to hide the Ready-and-Rhino more securely.

“If I were you, Sherry, I’d send that rogue packing!” said Prosper.

“He doesn’t worry me,” responded Sherry, handing him a glass of wine.

“No! He don’t steal your property!” retorted Prosper. “When I think of the things of mine that rascal has walked off with — However, that’s not what I came to talk to you about! If you’re not mighty careful, my boy, you’ll find yourself under the hatches! What the devil takes you to 12 Park Place? Young fool! Frittering a fortune away at French hazard, eh?”

“Fudge!” said Sherry, colouring.

“Fudge, is it? They tell me you’re seen about with that fellow Revesby. He take you to Park Place?”

“What if he did?”

“Thought as much,” said Prosper, nodding. He sipped his wine, adding matter-of-factly: “Got a strong notion they load the dice there.”

Sherry stared at him. “It’s a hum! You know nothing of the matter!”

Prosper gave an indulgent chuckle. “If any man in town is to be trusted to know when he’s playing with downhills it’s I!” he said. “Think you’re up to all the tricks, don’t you, Sherry? Well, you ain’t!” He finished what remained in his glass, and heaved his bulk out of the chair. “Said all I want to,” he grunted. “Know why Revesby ain’t a member of Watier’s? They blackballed him.”

This interview annoyed Sherry very much; and as Hero came in not ten minutes after he had seen his uncle off the premises, he naturally told her about it, expatiating at length on the folly of persons who held it possible for a fellow’s luck to continue bad indefinitely, and expressing some startling views on the correct measures to pursue when the dice were falling against one. Hero drank all this in, never doubting that every word he spoke was not only infallible, but represented his considered opinion; but she was a little alarmed by a glancing reference to Mr Stoke’s visit earlier in the week. No sooner had she been favoured with a scathing description of this gentleman’s errand than she conceived the notion of returning to the modiste who had created them, two ball dresses, one opera cloak, and a delicious promenade dress, with gathered sleeves and a high, arched collar, which was designed to be worn with a Spanish lapelled coat of fine orange merino adorned with epaulets and a border of raised white velvet. Sherry, however, when she suggested this sacrifice, was horrified, and forbade her either to do any such thing or to bother her head over such matters. He then passed a few strictures on the household bills, wondered that she should not contrive better, and said that he had no doubt that Groombridge was drinking all the best champagne.

So Hero nerved herself to remonstrate with the ruler of her kitchen. Such was her trepidation that Mrs Groombridge eyed her with overt contempt, and answered her in a very insolent manner. This was a mistake, for her mistress had a temper. The interview then proceeded on wholly unpremeditated lines, and ended with the abrupt departure of the Groombridges from Half Moon Street. As the master of the house was holding a bachelor dinner-party there that evening, it was small wonder that Bootle, Jason, and the fat pageboy should have looked with as much dismay as respect upon their mistress. But however little Cousin Jane might have taught Hero of the ways of the world, she had unquestionably attended to the domestic side of her education. The pageboy was sent off with a note from my Lady Sheringham to my Lady Kilby, excusing herself, on the score of the headache, from attending a soirée that evening; the superior abigail abovestairs was staggered to learn that she was to assist my lady in the kitchen; Bootle bowed politely to a decree that he was to act as butler; and Hero penetrated the fastnesses of the basement regions, thereby frightening the kitchen maid so much that she dropped a dish on the stone floor, and was of very little use for the rest of the evening. However, this was not felt to signify, since Jason, recommending her to stop napping her bib, offered his services to Hero in her stead, stipulating only that his livery should be protected by a belly-cheat. As soon as the assembled company had grasped that this elegant phrase was a euphemism for an apron, the desired article of clothing was produced; and the Tiger proved himself to be extremely expert amongst the cooking pots.