He smiled pleasantly, though, all the while, and when, to pass the time away, and conceal his trouble, Trevor once more proposed cards, the captain condescended to take "that little cad" as his partner, and between them they won fifty pounds of Trevor and Sir Felix--the latter throwing the cards petulantly down, and vowing he would play no more. "Good night, dear boy," said Vanleigh, rising and yawning a few minutes after smilingly taking his winnings. "It's past one, and we shall be having our respected friend, Mrs Lloyd, to send us to bed." A sharp retort was on Trevor's lip, but he checked it, and with a courtesy that was grave in spite of his efforts, wished him good night, saying-- "There is no fear of that; Mrs Lloyd and I understand each other pretty well now." "Ya-as, exactly," said Vanleigh; and he went out whistling softly. "Good night, Trevor," said Sir Felix, in turn. "'Fraid we're doocid bad comp'ny. Too bad, I'm sure, going 'way as we do." "Good night, Flick," said Trevor, smiling; and then, as the door closed, he turned to find Pratt leaning against the chimneypiece, counting over his winnings. "Well, my lad!" continued Trevor, trying to be gay. "Twenty-five pounds, Dick," said Pratt, laying the money on the table. "I shan't take that." "Nonsense, man," said Trevor; "keep it till Van wins it back. But what's the matter? Have you found another of your mare's-nests?" "I was thinking, Dick," said Pratt, gravely, "that you must be very sorry you asked any of us here." Trevor's lips parted to speak; but without a word he wrung his friend's hand, took his candle, and hastily left the room. Volume 2, Chapter XIII. BEFORE DINNER. It was a busy day at Tolcarne, that of the dinner party. The picnic had not been a success. In fact, at one time, when very much bored by the attentions of Vanleigh, Tiny had gazed out to sea at a pretty little yacht gliding by, and longed to be on board--innocent, poor girl! of the fact that Dick Trevor was lying on the deck with a powerful lorgnette, seeing the party distinctly, and plainly making out the captain leaning on the rock by her side. Fin, too, was no wiser--though, for quite a quarter of an hour Frank Pratt was gazing, with knitted brow, through a second lorgnette at the little rocky cove where Sir Felix Landells was pestering her with attentions, and evidently labouring under the impression that unless she partook of lobster salad every five minutes she must feel faint. Aunt Matty was the only really happy person in the party. She had, to the dismay of all, announced her intention of going, feeling sure that the change would benefit Pepine; and the way in which Vanleigh and Landells tried in emulation to gratify her whims was most flattering to her. Not that she was deceived by the attentions, and imagined them extorted by her charms; she knew well enough the visitors' aims, and was gratified at their discernment.