She looked very handsome in her silken kirtle of a brilliant greenish hue, lace primer, and high-heeled shoes--relics of her theatrical days; her head was adorned with the bunches of false curls which the modish hairdressers were trying to introduce. The plentiful use of cosmetics had obliterated the ravages of time and imparted a youthful appearance to her face, whilst excitement not unmixed with apprehension lent a bright glitter to her dark eyes. Lord Walterton and Sir James Overbury lightly touched with their lips the hand which she extended to them. Their bow, too, was slight, though they tossed their curls as they bent their heads in the most approved French fashion. But there was a distinct note of insolence, not altogether unmixed with irony, in the freedom with which they had greeted her. "I met de Chavasse in town to-day," said Lord Walterton, over his shoulder before he mixed with the crowd. "Yes! he will be here to-night," she rejoined. Sir James Overbury also made a casual remark, but it was evident that the intention and purpose of these gay gentlemen was not the courteous entertainment of their hostess. Like so many men of all times and all nations in this world, they were ready enough to enjoy what she provided for them--the illicit pastime which they could not get elsewhere--but they despised her for giving it them, and cared naught for the heavy risks she ran in keeping up this house for their pleasure. CHAPTER XV A GAME OF PRIMERO At a table in the immediate center of the room a rotund gentleman in doublet and breeches of cinnamon brown taffeta and voluminous lace cuffs at the wrists was presiding over a game of Spanish primero. A simple game enough, not difficult of comprehension, yet vastly exciting, if one may form a judgment of its qualities through watching the faces of the players. The rotund gentleman dealt a card face downwards to each of his opponents, who then looked at their cards and staked on them, by pushing little piles of gold or silver forward. Then the dealer turned up his own card, and gave the amount of the respective stakes to those players whose cards were of higher value than his own, whilst sweeping all other moneys to swell his own pile. A simple means, forsooth, of getting rid of any superfluity of cash. "Art winning, Endicott?" queried Lord Walterton as, he stood over the other man, looking down on the game. Endicott shrugged his fat shoulders, and gave an enigmatic chuckle. "I pay King and Ace only," he called out imperturbably, as he turned up a Queen. Most of the stakes came to swell his own pile, but he passed a handful of gold to a hollow-eyed youth who sat immediately opposite to him, and who clutched at the money with an eager, trembling grasp. "You have all the luck to-night, Segrave," he said with an oily smile directed at the winner. "Make your game, gentlemen," he added almost directly, as he once more began to deal.