The rest of the company was mostly ill-clad and ill-looking, though a certain careless good nature redeemed most of the faces; of the two women present one was a dark-skinned girl with an arched nose and a quantity of heavy black hair, the other a slim and elegant lady, who sat a little apart from the others; her companion, a gentleman, better attired than the others and who showed signs of great agitation, glancing round, wringing his hands and dabbing his face with his handkerchief. At Jerome Caryl’s entry he gave a great start and something like a suppressed shriek, an action that brought on him a glance of contempt from the lady. “La!” cried the tall young man as he caught sight of the new-comer. “We wasn’t expecting you, Caryl—we thought you was on a visit to little Hooknose.” “I am free, sir,” answered Caryl, advancing into the company, “I thought your grace had left England,” he added briefly. “Sink me, if I can,” smiled Berwick, good-humoredly. “Hunt’s cottage ain’t in working; who is going to take me across the Channel? Therefore here we are—eating, drinking, making merry—for to-morrow we die.” And he giggled again. Jerome Caryl’s melancholy eyes traveled with a faint disgust round the company; he dropped into the vacant seat beside Berwick and briefly narrated what had occurred at Kensington. The gathering listened eagerly, for there had been anxiety under this daredevil show. As Caryl ceased there was silence for the space of a second, then the Duke of Berwick burst into a great laugh. “I never thought my little cousin was just a fool!” he cried. “La! to think of it—Oh, la!” His merriment was echoed round the table; relief and the sense of safety lent a greater zest to the enjoyment; above the babble rose the scream of a woman’s voice. “A toast, gentlemen! A toast!” The dark girl climbed onto the table with the aid of her companion and stood there among the glasses, her own in her hand. “Here’s to the squeezing of the rotten Orange!” she cried, “and may we be all there to see it done.” Vast applause greeted her from all save the lady and her companion, who withdrew still further into the background, and Jerome Caryl, who sat silent. “Oh, dear, oh, la!” giggled Berwick. “Ain’t it amusing? Celia, my dear, give us another toast!” Celia Hunt leaped lightly from the table. “Your turn, your Highness,” she cried. Berwick rose and made her a swaggering bow. “May every Jack in gaol break free as cleverly as you did,” he said, then slipped back into his chair as the toast was drunk amid yells of merriment. Jerome Caryl laid his hand on the Duke’s arm. “Sir,” he said coldly in a low tone, “you are aware that our enterprise is done—damned? These papers on which we staked everything are gone—we shall not rouse France without them.” Berwick winked. “We’ll manage without France,” he said and smiled round the table.