They were not all gone, however; three of Miss Starbrow's intimate friends still lingered, drinking whisky-and-water and talking. There was Captain Horton--captain by courtesy, since he was no longer in the army--a tall, fine-looking man, slightly horsy in his get-up, with a very large red moustache, reddish-brown hair, and keen blue eyes. He wore a cut-away coat, and was standing on the hearthrug, his hands thrust into his trousers pockets, and smiling as he talked to a young clerical gentleman near him--the Rev. Octavius Brown. The Rev. Octavius was curate of a neighbouring ritualistic church, but in his life he was not ascetic; he loved whisky-and-water not wisely but too well, and he was passionately devoted to the noble game of Napoleon. Mr. Brown had just won seven shillings, and was in very high spirits; for being poor he had a great dread of losing, and played carefully for very small stakes, and seldom won more than half-a-crown or three shillings. At some distance from them a young gentleman reclined in an easy-chair, smoking a cigarette, and apparently not listening to their conversation. This was Mr. Merton Chance, clerk in the Foreign Office, and supposed by his friends to be extremely talented. He was rather slight but well-formed, a little under the medium height, clean shaved, handsome, colourless as marble, with black hair and dark blue eyes that looked black. Miss Starbrow, who had left the room a few minutes before, came in, and standing by the table listened to the curate. “Miss Starbrow,” said he, appealing to her, “is it not hard? Captain Horton either doubts my veracity or believes that I am only joking when I assure him that what I have just told him is plain truth.” “Well, let me hear the whole story,” she replied, “and I'll act as umpire.” “I couldn't wish for a juster one--nor for a fairer,” he replied with a weak smile. “What I said was that I had once attended a dinner to the clergy in Yorkshire, at which there were sixteen of us present, and the surnames of all were names of things--objects or offices or something--connected with a church.” “Well, what were the names?” “You see he remembers only one--a Mr. Church,” said Captain Horton. “No, pardon me. A Mr. Church, and a Mr. Bishop, and a Mr. Priest, and a Mr. Cross, and--and oh, yes, Mr. Bell.” “Five of your sixteen,” said Captain Horton, checking them off on his fingers. “And a Mr. Graves, and a Mr. Sexton, and--and--of course, I can't remember all the names now. Can you expect it, Miss Starbrow?” “No, of course not; but you have only named seven. If you can remember ten I shall decide in your favour.” “Thank you. There was a Mr. Church--” “No, no, old man, we've had that already,” cried the Captain. “Mr. Tombs,” he continued, and fell again to thinking. “That makes eight,” said Miss Starbrow. “Cheer up, Mr. Brown, you'll soon remember two others.”