"And how are matters going at Trevanion, eh, lad?" he asked. "Grandly," I replied gaily, for I was heated with good wine and I felt no cares. "Thou shouldst be in the dancing-room, lad," he said. "There's many a fine maid there; many with a big dowry. Geoffry Luxmore's daughter should suit thee well, Roger." "No women for me," I cried. "No; dost a hate them so?" I shrugged my shoulders. "Then my Peter'll be getting Trevanion, Roger?" he said with a leer. In spite of my excitement I felt uneasy as I looked at his eyes. "I've been thinking about calling in my mortgage," he said. "Do," I replied. "Ah, sits the wind in that quarter, eh? Well, Roger, thou hast always been a dare-devil fellow. But a landless Trevanion will be a sorry sight." "There never has been one yet." "And if thou art the first, 'twill be a sorry business." I felt more uncomfortable, so I swallowed a large bumper of wine to keep my spirits up. Presently we sat down to play. I won, I remember, freely at first, and was in high good humour. "Luck seems with thee to-night," said old Peter Trevisa. "After all, it seems thou'st done well to come here rather than go a-dancing with the maidens yonder." As he spoke the music ceased, and on looking up I saw Ned Prideaux, the fellow who had stolen Amelia Boscawen from me, come into the room. I don't know that I felt any enmity toward him; the only wrong feeling I had for him was on account of my pride. That he should have been preferred before me wounded my vanity. Old Peter Trevisa knew of the business, and laughed as he came up. "Thou didst beat him in courting, lad," he said to Prideaux, "let's see if thou canst beat him at playing." This he said like one who had been drinking a good deal. And although I had not seen him making free with wine, I fancied he must be fairly drunk; consequently I did not resent his words. Besides, I was in high good humour because of my winnings. "I'll take a hand with pleasure," answered Prideaux. He wiped his brow, for he had been dancing, and sat down opposite me. I broke a fresh bottle of wine, and we commenced playing. Fool that I was, I drank freely throughout the evening, and presently I became so excited that I hardly knew what I was doing. Several fellows gathered around to watch us, and the stakes were high. I had not been playing with Prideaux long before my luck turned. I began to lose all I had gained. Old Peter Trevisa chuckled as he saw that the cards were against me. "Give it up, Roger," he said in a sneering kind of way; "Trevanion can't stand bad luck, lad." This wounded my pride. "Trevanion can stand as much as I care to let it stand," I replied, and I laid my last guinea on the table. Presently Mr. Hendy, the old family lawyer, came to my side. "Be careful, Mr. Trevanion," he whispered, "this is no time for ducks and drakes."