It was lucky for him that he was dealing with the candour of youth, or that abrupt retreat of his from the scene of his crime would have brought suspicion. For, his deed accomplished, he simply got up with a jerk, dropped all attention to the play, looked at his watch, muttered the time of day with an exclamation, and sidled out of the room, leaving his companion marooned ... and with him, full of success, went the Lesser Devil. McTaggart could do without him; he went on playing for another ten minutes or so, till the break ended, and had reached the pretty figure of 151. Then he in turn looked at his watch in his waistcoat pocket, found it would be time for luncheon in a few minutes, put up his cue, and sadly resumed his coat. Had he been of those who smoke all day he would have pulled out his pipe, and ten to one would have found the thing lurking there next his tobacco; but he thought of the meal coming on, and much more did he think with dread that it would be breaking some mysterious etiquette of country houses if he were to smoke a pipe. He would not dare to do it till he saw some one of his betters at the same work. For the same reason, after he had heard them going towards the dining-room and had joined them, he was too nervous to put his hands in his pockets in a gesture of repose. He kept them dangling in his extreme anxiety to commit no solecism. He moved nervously about amid the sullen silence of the rest and wondered a little why the burst of geniality upon the part of the man of gems should have dried up so suddenly. For not a word more did the Professor speak to him; and all through luncheon McTaggart sat there in the same terror and the same misfortune of soul, never daring to speak some artificial word during the rare moments when anyone broke the silence. They had not yet risen from table; he was still wondering what one did at the end of luncheon in the houses of the great--at what point one got up, whether immediately after one's host or simultaneously with one's host; whether the women went out first, as he knew they did at dinner; whether it was his duty to open the door for them--when Lord Galton pulled out his pipe, filled it deliberately enough, and lit it. After the easy manners of our happy times he slowly and with deliberation blew a cloud of smoke across the board which wreathed itself, not ungracefully, about the venerable head of Aunt Amelia. So natural an action was followed by his host, who in turn thoughtfully pulled out his own pipe and lit it, as he rose to fetch himself wine: he mixed tobacco and wine, did Humphrey de Bohun. "Then," thought McTaggart to himself, in an agony of desire for tobacco, "it seems this kind of thing _can_ be done,"--and he felt for his pipe, and pulled out his pouch. [Illustration: _Mr. McTaggart discovers the Emerald._]