'Mary and I; it's all arranged, don't you know? Oh, by Jove, here is luck!' he added, looking for a king, and of course _getting_ one, while the score was growing heavy against his adversary, and was close on a hundred now. 'Hallo, Mr. Montgomerie!' exclaimed Falconer angrily, as Hew stooped to fish for a dropped card, 'what's the matter?' 'I have dropped a card, by Jove! and that d----d terrier has collared it. Here, Snarley, you brute!' 'You have dropped half-a-dozen, sir!' said Falconer sternly, as he rose from his chair with menace in his eyes. 'I have not!' 'Look for yourself, then.' 'Where?' 'Under the table.' 'By Jove, there _are_ cards there!' said Hew, with well simulated surprise, as he hastily picked them up; 'but they were never dropped by me.' 'By who, then?' To gain time, or avoid reply, Hew addressed himself to his brandy and soda, of which he had imbibed more than enough already. 'Never again shall I play with you' ('you scoundrel,' Cecil was on the point of adding); 'and if I do not expose your play to Sir Piers and the public, it is only because I have a sincere respect for your family. This is my score,' he continued, taking up a memorandum, 'more than one hundred pounds, which I must have paid you, but for this most fortunate discovery, which cancels everything!' With these words, Falconer tore up the paper and scattered the fragments, while Hew, unsteady in his movements now, clutched the back of his chair with both hands, grew very pale in the face, and literally glared at him with his shifty green eyes. 'You are mistaken, Mr. Falconer,' he said thickly. 'I am _not_ mistaken, sir!' 'Come, come; don't make a d----d row about nothing,' said Hew, coarsely and bluntly; but as he had no wish, as yet, to push matters to an extremity with Falconer, or drive him to report the occurrence to Sir Piers, he alternately sought to explain, temporise with, and even to bully him, seeking at the same time to retain him in the room for a little space, and unwired another bottle for his benefit; and Cecil at first thought he was _acting_ intoxication as a cover, or excuse, for his recent trickery. 'We mustn't appear to quarrel, you know,' said he, inarticulately, while glaring viciously at Falconer. 'Won't do--bad style of thing--bad form. Keep it dark with Sir Piers,' he added, swaying about as if his heels were on a pivot; 'a bloated old aristocrat--man likely to hop his twig! Ah! you thought to draw me like a badger about Mary, but won't be drawn by you or any man.' 'Good-night!' cried Cecil, making his escape. 'Goor-right--goor-right!' said Hew, lunging right and left, and nearly knocking over the card-table, while sending after his guest a savage malediction, with an unlit havana in his mouth.