Spruce enjoyed the sultry weather personally, as he loved warmth with all the affection of a cat, and the worst heat never caused him any discomfort. After dining excellently at seven o'clock, he now sat by the open window of his sitting-room at the Bull Inn, enjoying a cup of fragrant coffee and as many cigarettes as he could get through. Of course, he was in accurate evening dress, as he always loved to be clothed appropriately according to the hour of the day. No one was more of a slave to social observances than the Nut, for he had the petty soul of a Beau Brummel. A small table stood before him, and he passed the time in trying new card-tricks, which might be useful some day, should he again become hard up. Not that Spruce always played false to make money, since he was a cheat by instinct. To get the better of any one by trickery was pleasant, as it involved danger, which was exciting, and gave him an agreeable feeling of superiority because of his wonderful dexterity. So he shuffled and cut and dealt; slipped cards up his sleeve and out again; diddled an imaginary opponent by sleight of hand, and in every way trained himself to cheating as though it were a fine art. Most card-lovers when alone play Patience. Spruce preferred to prepare himself for future campaigns. Every now and then he cast a disdainful look round the shabby old room, which was by no means to his taste. Undoubtedly the apartment was ancient and time-worn, containing too much furniture, and giving little gratification to the eye. But Time had mellowed the whole into pleasing, sober colours, and less fastidious people would have been delighted with the reposeful look of things. The atmosphere was quite monastic. But Spruce admired spacious chambers filled with gilded furniture and blazing with lights. He had the tastes of Louis XIV., and Versailles was his idea of a dwelling house. When he was in possession of the two thousand a year, he intended to live in great luxury, but meanwhile contented himself with this dingy habitation. The window at which he was seated looked out on to a small garden surrounded by a low wall beyond which stretched fields right up to the grey churchyard. The sill of the window was so low that the Nut could easily have vaulted over it into the pleasant garden. But not having any love for Nature, he preferred to stay where he was playing cards, and dreaming of luxurious years, which were as he thought--truly coming to him.