Lord March a hundred
guineas that the stockings worn by Lady Di Faulkner at the last Assembly
ball were not mates, and had won. It appeared that unconsciously I had
been a source of entertainment to the club loungers.

"Sure 'tis pity you're mewed up here, Kenn, for you're the lion of the
hour. None can roar like you. The betting books at White's are filled with
wagers about you," Creagh told me.

"About me?" I exclaimed.

"Faith, who else? 'Lord Pam bets Mr. Conway three ponies against a hundred
pounds that Mr. Kenneth Montagu of Montagu Grange falls by the hand of
justice before three months from date,'" he quoted with a great deal of
gusto. "Does your neck ache, Kenn?"

"Oh, the odds are in my favour yet. What else?" I asked calmly.

"'Mr. James Haddon gives ten pounds each to his Royal Highness the Prince
of Wales and to Sir Robert Volney and is to receive from each twenty
guineas if Mr. K. Montagu is alive twelve months from date.' Egad, you're
a topic of interest in high quarters!"

"Honoured, I'm sure! I'll make it a point to see that his Royal Highness
and my dear friend Volney lose. Anything else?"

"At the coffee-house they were talking about raising a subscription to you
because they hear you're devilish hard up and because you made such a
plucky fight against Volney. Some one mentioned that you had a temper and
were proud as Lucifer. 'He's such a hothead. How'll he take it?' asks
Beauclerc. 'Why, quarterly, to be sure!' cries Selwyn. And that reminds
me: George has written an epigram that is going the rounds. Out of some
queer whim--to keep them warm I suppose--Madame Bellevue took her slippers
to bed with her. Some one told it at the club, so Selwyn sat down and
wrote these verses:

"'Well may Suspicion shake its head--
Well may Clorinda's spouse be jealous,
When the dear wanton takes to bed
Her very shoes--because they're fellows.'"

Creagh's merry laugh was a source of healing in itself, and his departure
to join the Prince put an edge to the zest of my desire to get back into
the world. Just before leaving he fished a letter from his pocket and
tossed it across the room to me.

"Egad, and you are the lucky man, Kenn," he said. "The ladies pester us
with praises of your valour. This morning one of the fair creatures gave
me this to deliver, swearing I knew your whereabouts."

'Twas a gay little note from my former playmate Antoinette