Fortescue flung his cards face downwards on the table. "Curse you, Tracy, you've brought bad luck!" he said entirely without rancour. "I had quite tolerable hands before you came." "Belmanoir, I will thtake my chestnut mare 'gaintht your new grey," lisped the Viscount, coming up to the table, dice-box in hand. "Stap me, but that is too bad!" cried Wilding. "Don't take him, Devil! Have you seen the brute?" The four players had finished their card-playing and were quite ready for the dice. "Trust in your luck, Belmanoir, and take him!" advised Pritchard, who loved hazarding other men's possessions, but kept a tight hold on his own. "Ay, take him!" echoed Falmouth. "Don't," said Fortescue. "Of course I shall take him," answered his Grace tranquilly. "My grey against your chestnut and the best of three. Will you throw?" The Viscount rattled his box with a flourish. Two threes and a one turned up. With a hand on Fortescue's shoulder, and one foot on the rung of his chair, Tracy leaned forward and cast his own dice on to the table. He had beaten the Viscount's throw by five. The next toss Fotheringham won, but the last fell to his Grace. "Damnathion!" said the Viscount cheerfully. "Will you thtake your grey againtht my Terror?" "Thunder and turf, Fotheringham! You'll lose him!" cried Nettlefold warningly. "Don't stake the Terror!" "Nonthenth! Do you take me, Belmanoir?" "Certainly," said the Duke, and threw. "Oh, an you are in a gaming mood, I will play you for the right to try my hand with the dark beauty!" called Markham across the room. "Against what?" asked Fortescue. "Oh, what he wills!" The Viscount had cast and lost, and his Grace won the second throw. "It appears my luck is in," he remarked. "I will stake my beauty against your estates, Markham." Sir Gregory shook his head, laughing. "No, no! Keep the lady!" "I intend to, my dear fellow. She is not your style. I begin to wonder whether she altogether suits my palate." He drew out his snuff-box and offered it to his host, and the other men finding that he was proof against their railing, allowed the subject to drop. In the course of the evening his Grace won three thousand guineas--two at ombre and one at dice--lost his coveted grey hunter and won him back again from Wilding, to whom he had fallen. He came away at three o'clock in company with Fortescue, both perfectly cool-headed, although his Grace, for his part, had imbibed a considerable quantity of burgundy, and more punch than any ordinary man could take without afterwards feeling very much the worse for wear. As my Lord Avon's door closed behind them, Tracy turned to his friend: "Shall we walk, Frank?" "Since our ways lie together, yes," replied Fortescue, linking his arm in the Duke's. "Down Brock Street and across the Circus is our quickest way."