“No,” said Willie, scooping the dice into the leather box, and thoughtfully stirring them before he emptied on to the pewter counter. “I don’t think—ar—Duvernay was anybody. I did know him here, of course, because one couldn’t help it, but I—ar—don’t recollect meeting him at the club or anywhere before we—ar—came out. By ged! look there! Fours first shot. Of course, the Kildares are all right as far as family goes, but they’re poor as regards the—ar—almighty dollar. If it wasn’t for that, by ged! I wouldn’t mind going in for the fair Elsie myself. Wobinson, old chappie, take the box and agitate. You won’t beat my four ladies.” “I wish,” said Kent-Williams, meditatively, “I knew what Onslow was going to do. Mabel Duvernay’s a charming woman, and she’s got at least £500 a year. I don’t want to make a fool of myself if Onslow’s still in the running. And, by Jove! I know she’s as fond of him as ever. That beast Duvernay used to twit her with it when he was in an extra vile temper.” “Go slow,” advised Robinson, “and hang back for bets. Here, I can’t improve on two pairs, so you and I throw again. Here’s the box. By the way, why not ask Onslow yourself? You knew him well enough at Cambridge, and you aren’t shy.” “I’m not shy, dear boy, and I used to know Patrick Onslow well before I came out. He’s a devilish genial fellow, so long as you rub him the right way, but I shouldn’t like to cross-question him too much about Mrs. Duvernay. You see, don’t you know, he was most infernally struck on the lady before she was married, and he’s one of those fellows with a long memory, who don’t forget. Now I, dear boy, have been in love with heaps of women in my time, and they with me; but when they gave me the chuck, or I got tired of them, I didn’t break my blessed heart, or play the goat, or do anything of that kind. I simply went on to the next caravan, which is a devilish comfortable amusement. But old Pat isn’t built that way. He’s one of those fools who would get gone on a woman and keep her in mind for years and years afterwards. Mighty dreary sort of game to my way of thinking. By Jove! four kings. If you beat those, dear boy, may I live on sweet potatoes and mullet for all the rest of my natural life.” “Oh, Lord,” said Robinson, “£500 a year—twenty-five hundred dollars! One could pig along with that very comfortably in lots of places. What unlucky brutes some of us are. Oh, curse it, just my form; two pairs again. We won’t prolong the agony. My shout—what’ll you fellows have?” They drank their cocktails, and went into the vast, bare dining-hall, where a shining negro waiter supplied each with a tumbler of iced tea and two dozen oval dishes of comestibles. “Onslow seems thick enough with the Kildare girl,” Kent-Williams observed. “But, of course, he knew her when she was a kid, and they’d have heaps to talk about. What do you think, Willie?”