There was another laugh; and then a silence; and then Sir Jasper repeated drawling: “So virtuous? It all depends what the virtue is--eh, gentlemen? There’s prudence, now--they tell me ’tis much practised of the French.” “What am I to take out of that, sir?” “Why lad, you may take it that Miss knows her value. With all due deference to your good looks, you might fail where one like myself might succeed.” “Meaning, Sir Jasper----?” “Meaning, Mr. Jocelyn Bellairs, that little milliners, especially if they’ve been in Paris, may have learnt to have an eye to the main chance.” There was again much and loud merriment. The four other gentlemen looked at the one handsome youth of the party as if it were agreeable to see his comb cut. “Gad, if there’s any betting going on it, I’ll back Jasper,” said Sir James Devlin, with that cold smile of his which seemed to blight where it rested. “But the mischief’s in it, who’d take up the wager at such odds? What? Sweet, penniless Romeo in the one scale, and rich Sir Paris in the other, and Juliet a French milliner, Pshaw!” “Why then, Sir James,” cried Mr. Bellairs. “Romeo is none so penniless but that he can back his own word. I’m ready to wager Sir Jasper this moment as much as he cares to risk that Miss Pamela Pounce--who is not French, sir, but good Kentish stock--will send him to the right-about, as she has sent--aye, though ’tis I say it--a better man! That all his money-bags will not weigh this nutshell”--he crushed one under his clenched hand on the mahogany as he spoke--“against her virtue.” Sir Jasper grew red in the face; his eyes protruded, his veins swelled. “Why, done with you, you poor innocent----” “Stay, stay,” intervened Sir James. “If there’s to be betting, let’s do it proper, a’ Heaven’s name! _In primo_, what is the wager to be?” Sir Jasper and Bellairs spoke together: “That pretty Pounce will pounce fast enough if it is made worth her while,” cried Sir Jasper, with a guffaw. And: “That Sir Jasper has about as much chance of Miss Pamela Pounce’s favour as of the Princess Royal’s,” asserted Bellairs. “Now, tut, tut!” Sir James Devlin shook his head and clacked his tongue. “If I’m to draw up your wager, gentlemen, you must, if you please, be a trifle less slipshod. You can’t bet on a pun, Sir Jasper, nor you on a high-falutin’ comparison to royal ladies, young man. You’ve got to bet on facts, my lads. Say, that a week from to-day we find the young person agreeably installed under the protection of our host here, in--better say London--eh, Jasper? Might be a bit awkward, too close to Miss’s family, what? Mr. Jocelyn Bellairs here to be given ocular proof that circumstances alter cases. Let your charmer ask him to tea in her new abode this day week.” “Carry her off, carry her off, good old style. Tally-ho!” cried the tipsy squire.