“Why, zounds!” exclaimed Sir Jasper, after he had ruminated a while. “It seems that more hangs on this betting to-night than the virtue of Miss, after all. What? The farm that we Standishes from grandfather down have vainly been trying to get hold of. That’s a fine idea of yours, Grinder, odds my life, it is! A thousand guineas besides, and as fine an armful--hark ye, Devlin, did ye notice her this morning in church, as neat as a chestnut filly? Foh! There’s blood in her, sir, there’s blood in her, or I’m no judge----” He broke off. ’Twas a dashed superior smile on young puppy’s face. What made the fellow so cocksure, in the name of all that was sly? A sudden thought struck him. “Look you here, Master Bellairs,” cried he, with a muffled roar. “No collusion! No putting your head and Miss Pounce’s together to do me out of a thousand guineas! Eh, Devlin? Eh, Grinder? No blanked tricks!” Jocelyn’s nostrils quivered scornfully. “I give you my word of honour, Sir Jasper,” said he, “to have no communication in private with the young lady till your week is out.” “Come, come!” said Sir James. “Split me, Jasper, we’re all gentlemen here!” The smile on the face of Mr. Bellairs became accentuated. “I’m ready to give Sir Jasper any guarantee,” said he. “Deuce take him! He’s like a fellow with a card up his sleeve!” thought Sir Jasper. “Word of honour, or no word of honour, I’ll make Devlin keep watch for me.” When they went upstairs to the splendid, neglected drawing-room where Lady Barbara Flyte, her niece, Miss Lesbia Ogle, and Mrs. Colonel Dashwood were waiting to pour out tea for them, Mr. Jocelyn Bellairs showed himself in high spirits. “Ah, Pamela, my girl!” cried he to himself, “that was an angry look you cast at me across your prayer-book this morning, a monstrous, unpeaceful kind of look to a man of good will; but if this day’s work has not wiped out old scores--A ‘filly,’ he called you. Aye, you’ll come over the fence as clean as a bird. I’ve no fear of you, my splendid girl, and you’ll be kinder to me, I dare swear, when next we meet; but that won’t be this day week, at any lodging paid for by Sir Jasper.” * * * * * “Why, la, Sir Jasper, what a merry tune!” And “Oh, Sir Jasper, what a strange, pretty place!” And, “Why, Sir Jasper, ’tis the most Christmas sight I’ve ever beheld!” And, “Pray, pray, Sir Jasper, don’t ask me to trip it with your country bumpkins, for I vow and protest I could never pick up those vulgar steps!” And, “Oh, Aunt Bab, do but look at the pink roses in Goody’s cap!” And, “Oh, Miss Ogle, you’re nowhere, I declare, beside Miss in feathers yonder, plucked from the old turkey before mother put it in the pot.” “You’re too droll, Mrs. Dashwood!” “Do you think, Sir Jasper, the buck in the top-boots would have me for his partner if I simpered ever so sweet upon him?”