“You must reckon with _me_ first!” cried Clarence, hoarsely. “Your confidences, which mean blazoning the truth from one end of Shirani to the other, will play the very devil with me!” “Why? What do you mean?” asked Jervis, with an air of cool surprise. “Cannot you see? I’ve dropped into my old set and my old temptations; I cannot resist a bit of a gamble. The name of ‘millionaire,’ given for fun, has gained me credit. I owe money all over the place--rent, club, bills, Manockjee; three thousand rupees would not clear me, and if it comes out, say, to-morrow, that I am their dear customer of former days, without a penny to bless myself with, they will all be on me like a pack of hounds. Give me time, and I will sell the ponies well up at Simla, pick up a race or two, and marry”--with a laugh--“the heiress.” (Never, to quote Lord Lytton, was there a man, who was an habitual gambler, otherwise than notably inaccurate in his calculations of probabilities in the ordinary affairs of life. Is it that such a man has become such a chronic drunkard of hope, that he sees double every chance in his favour?) “I am owed some money myself, but I must not press my debtor. However, I am safe to get it some day, and it’s a tidy sum. I have a first-rate book on Goodwood; I _can’t_ lose, and I must win. All I want is time, a long day, your honour”--grinning at his companion; nevertheless, although he grinned, his mouth was working nervously at the corners. “But surely there are a good many thousand rupees still at the agent’s?” asked Mark, rather blankly. “Not a pice,” was the astounding reply. “No, I was badly hit over the Liverpool, and of course I had no right to appropriate the funds in such a way. You need not tell me _that_. Gambling is a disease with me, and I cannot help it; it’s worse than drink--comes far more expensive. There ought to be a retreat for confirmed gamblers such as I am, same as for dipsomaniacs. I may as well make a clean breast of it. I hoped to land a large stake, and make all square, but that brute ‘Queer Customer’ curled up and ran a cur in the finish, and put us all in a hole. I would give ten pounds to get a shot at him! I’ve had confounded bad luck, and I must say in my own defence, that it was all _your_ fault, from first to last. You put temptation in my way, you handed over the accounts and cheque-book, and asked no questions; and, by Jove!” he concluded with an air of virtuous resignation, “I’ve told you no lies. I am cleaned out.” “And supposing your Simla schemes fall through, and you are _not_ paid, and your book on Goodwood is on the wrong side--what will you do?” Clarence simply shrugged his broad shoulders. “How are we to pay our bills here?” inquired the other, gravely. “I don’t know.” “And our passage money?” “I don’t know,” he repeated doggedly. “Surely you must have some idea?” urged Jervis, with a touch of asperity. “Yes, you can write to the uncle for fresh supplies.”