The gentleman who presented himself to Martin at the close of our last chapter was in many respects a good specimen of his order. He had entered the room, believing Martin to be there alone; but no sooner had he perceived another, and that other one not known to him, than all the buoyant gayety of his manner was suddenly toned down into a quiet seriousness; while, taking his friend's arm, he said in a low voice,--“If you 're busy, my dear Martin, don't hesitate for a moment about sending me off; I had not the slightest suspicion there was any one with you.” “Nor is there,” said Martin, with a supercilious glance at Merl, who was endeavoring in a dozen unsuccessful ways to seem unaware of the new arrival's presence. “I want to introduce him to you,” said Martin. “No, no, my dear friend, on no account.” “I must; there's no help for it,” said Martin, impatiently, while he whispered something eagerly in the other's ear. “Well, then, some other day; another time--” “Here and now, Claude,” said Martin, peremptorily; while, without waiting for reply, he said aloud, “Merl, I wish to present you to Lord Claude Willoughby,--Lord Claude, Mr. Herman Merl.” Merl bowed and smirked and writhed as his Lordship, with a bland smile and a very slight bow, acknowledged the presentation. “Had the pleasure of meeting your Lordship at Baden two summers ago,” said the Jew, with an air meant to be the ideal of fashionable ease. “I was at Baden at the time you mention,” said he, coldly. “I used to watch your Lordship's game with great attention; you won heavily, I think?” “I don't remember, just now,” said he, carelessly; not, indeed, that such was the fact, or that he desired it should be thought so; he only wished to mark his sense of what he deemed an impertinence. “The man who can win at rouge-et-noir can do anything, in my opinion,” said Merl. “What odds are you taking on Rufus?” said Martin to Willoughby, and without paying the slightest attention to Merl's remark. “Eleven to one; but I'll not take it again. Hecuba is rising hourly, and some say she 'll be the favorite yet.” “Is Rufus your Lordship's horse?” said the Jew, insinuatingly. Willoughby bowed, and continued to write in his note-book. “And you said the betting was eleven to one on the field, my Lord?” “It ought to be fourteen to one, at least.” “I 'll give you fourteen to one, my Lord, just for the sake of a little interest in the race.” Willoughby ceased writing, and looked at him steadfastly for a second or two. “I have not said that the odds were fourteen to one.” “I understand you perfectly, my Lord; you merely thought that they would be, or, at least, ought to be.” “Merl wants a bet with you, in fact,” said Martin, as he applied alight to his meerschaum; “and if you won't have him, I will.” “What shall it be, sir,” said Lord Claude, pencil in hand; “in ponies--fifties?” “Oh, ponies, my Lord. I only meant it, just as I said, to give me something to care for in the race.”