“Will you put him up at the 'Cercle' after that?” whispered Martin, with a look of sly malice. “I'll tell you when the match is over,” said Willoughby, laughing; “but if I won't, here 's one that will. That's a neat phaeton of Cavendish's.” And at the same instant Martin opened the window, and made a signal with his handkerchief. “That's the thing for _you_, Merl,” said Martin, pointing down to a splendid pair of dark chestnuts harnessed to a handsome phaeton. “It's worth five hundred pounds to any fellow starting an equipage to chance upon one of Cavendish's. He has not only such consummate taste in carriage and harness, but he makes his nags perfection.” “He drives very neatly,” said Willoughby. “What was it he gave for that near-side horse?--a thousand pounds, I think.” “Twelve hundred and fifty, and refused a hundred for my bargain,” said a very diminutive, shrewd-looking man of about five-and-thirty, who entered the room with great affectation of juvenility. “I bought him for a cab, never expecting to 'see his like again,' as Shakspeare says.” “And you offered the whole concern yesterday to Damre-mont for fifty thousand francs?” “No, Harry, that's a mistake. I said I 'd play him a match at piquet, whether he gave seventy thousand for the equipage or nothing. It was he that proposed fifty thousand. Mine was a handsome offer, I think.” “I call it a most munificent one,” said Martin. “By the way, you don't know my friend here, Mr. Merl, Sir Spencer Cavendish.” And the baronet stuck his glass in his eye, and scanned the stranger as unscrupulously as though he were a hack at Tattersairs. “Where did he dig him up, Claude?” whispered he, after a second. “In India, I fancy; or at the Cape.” “That fellow has something to do with the hell in St. James's Street; I 'll swear I know his face.” [Illustration: 029] “I 've been telling Merl that he 's in rare luck to find such a turn-out as that in the market; that is, if you still are disposed to sell.” “Oh, yes, I'll sell it; give him the tiger, boots, cockade, and all,--everything except that Skye terrier. You shall have the whole, sir, for two thousand pounds; or, if you prefer it--” A certain warning look from Lord Claude suddenly arrested his words, and he added, after a moment,--“But I 'd rather sell it off, and think no more of it.” “Try the nags; Sir Spencer, I'm sure, will have no objection,” said Martin. But the baronet's face looked anything but concurrence with the proposal. “Take them a turn round the Bois de Boulogne, Merl,” said Martin, laughing at his friend's distress. “And he may have the turn-out at his own price after the trial,” muttered Lord Claude, with a quiet smile. “Egad! I should think so,” whispered Cavendish; “for, assuredly, I should never think of being seen in it again.” “If Sir Spencer Cavendish has no objection,--if he would permit his groom to drive me just down the Boulevards and the Rue Rivoli--”