Bulstrode, as usual, was attentive to the decanters. He hated cards, and after he had played a few games of loo in the early part of the evening, and had lost some money, he had had enough of it. He wandered aimlessly from one room to another. It was all excessively pretty to him, but childish. His eyes followed Mrs. Blair, and he began to speculate, as he lounged about, his hands in the pockets of his tight black trousers, what would be the result if the Blairs should get all of Skelton’s wife’s money. “But I sha’n’t be here to see it,” he thought rather cheerfully, “for Skelton will outlast this old carcass.” Then he began to think, with the sardonic amusement that always inspired him when his mind was on that particular subject, how the bare possibility must infuriate Skelton; and, after all, it would be better to let Lewis alone, and give him Deerchase and all of Skelton’s own money--that would be quite as much as would be good for him. On the whole, he was glad he had told Mrs. Blair, and he hoped the dear soul would live to enjoy all that would be hers. As the night wore on and the fumes of the liquor Bulstrode had drank mounted to his brain, clearing it, as he always protested, the sense of slavery to Skelton vanished. He was a free man; he was not simply an embodied intellect kept by Skelton for his uses, as the feudal barons of old kept the wearers of the motley. Bulstrode began to walk about jovially, to hold up his head, to mend his slouchy gait and careless manners. He strolled up to Mrs. Blair, standing by the library door, with as much of an air as if he owned Deerchase. Skelton, who was not far off, said, smiling, to Sylvia: “Drink _does_ improve Bulstrode. He always declares that it makes a gentleman of him.” It was now getting towards four o’clock, and people with drives of ten and fifteen miles before them began to make the move to go. A few dancers were yet spinning about in the hall. Bulstrode gallantly complimented Mrs. Blair upon her looks, her gown--everything. Elizabeth, with a smile, received his praises. Then, emboldened, he began to be rash, saying: “And when the time comes, my dear madam, that you are in the commanding place you ought to have--when you are possessed of the power which money gives--when what is Skelton’s now shall be yours and your children’s--” “Hush!” cried Mrs. Blair nervously and turning pale. Her eyes sought for Skelton; he was not five feet off, and one look at him showed that he had heard every word, and he was too acute and instant of comprehension not to have taken it in at once. Sylvia Shapleigh had just gone off with her father, and practically Skelton and Mrs. Blair and Bulstrode were alone.