“You are fond of giving the odds, Frobisher,” said Linton, who, for some minutes, continued to take glass after glass of champagne; “now, what's your bet that I don't do the honors here next Christmas-day?” “I can't say what you mean,” said Frobisher, languidly. “I've seen you do 'the honors' at more than one table where you were the guest.” “This, I suppose, is meant for a pleasantry, my Lord?” said Linton, while his face became flushed with passion. “It is meant for fact,” said Frobisher, with a steady coolness in his air and accent. “A fact! and not in jest, then!” said he, approaching where the other sat, and speaking in a low voice. “That's very quarrelsome wine, that dry champagne,” said Frobisher, lazily; “don't drink any more of it.” Linton tried to smile; the effort, at first not very successful, became easier after a moment, and it was with a resumption of his old manner he said,-- “I 'll take you two to one in fifties that I act the host here this day twelvemonth.” “You hear the offer, gentlemen?” said Frobisher, addressing the party. “Of course it is meant without any reservation, and so I take it.” He produced a betting-book as he said this, and began to write in it with his pencil. “Would you prefer it in hundreds?” said Linton. Frobisher nodded an assent. “Or shall we do the thing sportingly, and say two thousand to one?” continued he. “Two thousand to one be it,” said Frobisher, while the least possible smile might be detected on his usually immovable features. “There is no knowing how to word this bet,” said he, at last, after two or three efforts, followed by as many erasures; “you must write it yourself.” Linton took the pencil, and wrote rapidly for a few seconds. “Will that do?” said he. And Frobisher read to himself: “'Mr. Linton, two thousand to one with Lord C. Frobisher, that he, T. L., on the anniversary of this day, shall preside as master of the house Tubbermore, by due right and title, and not by any favor, grace, or sanction of any one whatsoever.” “Yes; that will do, perfectly,” said Frobisher, as he closed the book, and restored it to his pocket. “Was the champagne so strong as you expected?” whispered Upton, as he passed behind Frobisher's chair. A very knowing nod of acquiescence was the only reply. [Illustration: 146] Indeed, it did not require the practised shrewdness of Lord Charles, or his similarly sharp-eyed friends, to see that Linton's manner was very different from his habitual calm collectedness, while he continued to drink on, with the air of a man that was resolved on burying his faculties in the excitement of wine. Meek slipped away soon after, and, at Linton's suggestion a rouge-et-noir bank was formed, at which the play became high, and his own losses very considerable. It was already daylight, and the servants were stirring in the house ere the party broke up. “Master Tom has had a squeeze to-night,” said Jennings, as he was bidding Upton good-bye at his door.