Rakes these men admittedly were with but few exceptions. No ordinary tale of gallantry could have shocked them, or provoked them to aught but a contemptuous mirth at the expense of the victim, male or female. They would have thought little the worse of a man for running off with the wife, say, of one of his acquaintance; they would have thought nothing of his running off with a sister or a daughter--so long as it was not of their own. All these were fair game, and if the husband, father or brother could not protect the wife, sister or daughter that was his, the more shame to him. But though they might be fair game, the game had its rules--anomalous as it may seem. These rules Lord Rotherby--if the tale Mr. Caryll told was true--had violated. He had practiced a cheat, the more dastardly because the poor lady who had so narrowly escaped being his victim had nether father nor brother to avenge her. And in every eye that was upon him Lord Rotherby might have read, had he had the wit to do so, the very sternest condemnation. “A pretty story, as I've a soul!” was his grace's comment, when Mr. Caryll had done. “A pretty story, my Lord Rotherby. I have a stomach for strong meat myself. But--odds my life!--this is too nauseous!” Rotherby glared at him. “'Slife! your grace is grown very nice on a sudden!” he sneered. “The president of the Bold Bucks, the master of the Hell Fire Club, is most oddly squeamish where the diversions of another are concerned.” “Diversions?” said his grace, his eyebrows raised until they all but vanished under the golden curls of his peruke. “Diversions? Ha! I observe that you make no attempt to deny the story. You admit it, then?” There was a stir in the group, a drawing back from his lordship. He observed it, trembling between chagrin and rage. “What's here?” he cried, and laughed contemptuously. “Oh, ah! You'll follow where his grace leads you! Ye've followed him so long in lewdness that now yell follow him in conversion! But as for you, sir,” and he swung fiercely upon Caryll, “you and your precious story--will you maintain it sword in hand?” “I can do better,” answered Mr. Caryll, “if any doubts my word.” “As how?” “I can prove it categorically, by witnesses.” “Well said, Caryll,” Stapleton approved him. “And if I say that you lie--you and your witnesses?” “'T is you will be liar,” said Mr. Caryll. “Besides, it is a little late for that,” cut in the duke. “Your grace,” cried Rotherby, “is this affair yours?” “No, I thank Heaven!” said his grace, and sat down. Rotherby scowled at the man who until ten minutes ago had been his friend and boon companion, and there was more of contempt than anger in his eyes. He turned again to Mr. Caryll, who was watching him with a gleam of amusement--that infernally irritating amusement of his--in his gray-green eyes. “Well?” he demanded foolishly, “have you naught to say?” “I had thought,” returned Mr. Caryll, “that I had said enough.” And the duke laughed aloud.