ge, and looked towards Lord
George. "You don't want your revenge to-night?" he asked.

"No, confound you!" said the young man, sulkily.

"In that case I'll drive into Kensington with Mrs. Krill, and borrow her
carriage for a trip to Piccadilly. Good-night, Sandal. Good-night,
Beecot."

He waved his hand, and the ladies waved theirs, and then the three drove
away. Lord George lighted a cigar, and putting his arm within that of
Beecot, strolled down the road. "Come to my club," he said.

"No, thank you," answered Paul, politely, "I must get home."

"But I wish you'd come. I hate being by myself and you seem such a good
sort of chap."

"Well," said Beecot, thinking he might say a word in season to this
young fool, "I don't gamble."

"Oh, you cry down that, do you?"

"Well, I think it's foolish."

"It is," assented Lord George, frankly, "infernally foolish. And Hay has
all the luck. I wonder if he plays square."

This was dangerous ground, and Paul shied. "I really can't say," he said
coldly, "I don't play cards."

"But what do you know of Hay?" asked Sandal.

"Only that he was at school with me at Torrington. We met by accident
the other day, and he asked me to dinner."

"Torrington. Yes. I had a brother at that school once," said Lord
George, "but you and Hay wouldn't get on well together, I should think.
You're straight, and he's--"

"You forget, we have been dining with him," said Paul, quickly.

"What of that. I've dined often and have paid pretty dearly for the
privilege. I must have lost at least five thousand to him within the
last few months."

"In that case I should advise you to play cards no more. The remedy is
easy," said Paul, dryly.

"It isn't so easy to leave off cards," rejoined Sandal, gloomily. "I'm
that fond of gambling that I only seem to live when I've got the cards
or dice in my hand. I suppose it's like dram-drinking."

"If you take my advice, Lord George, you'll give up card-playing."

"With Hay, do you mean?" asked the other, shrewdly.

"With anyone. I know nothing about Hay beyond what I have told you."

"Humph," said Sandal, "I don't think you're a chap like him at all. I
may look a fool, but I ain't, and can see through a brick wall same as
most Johnnies."

"Who can't see at all," interpolated Paul, dryly.

"Ha! ha! that's good. But I say about this Hay. What a queer lot he had
there to-night."

"I can't discuss that," said Paul, stiffly. He was not one to eat a
m