oom without anyone
observing him. He winked familiarly to Temple Grace, but scarcely
presumed to bow to the Duke. He was very busy about the wine, and
dressed the wild fowl in a manner quite unparalleled. He took particular
care to send a most perfect portion to the young Duke, and he did this,
as he paid all attentions to influential strangers, with the most marked
consciousness of the sufferance which permitted his presence: never
addressing his Grace, but audibly whispering to the servant, "Take this
to the Duke"; or asking the attendant, "whether his Grace would try the
Hermitage?"

After dinner, with the exception of Cogit, who was busied in compounding
some wonderful liquid for the future refreshment, they sat down to
_ecarte_. Without having exchanged a word upon the subject, there seemed
a general understanding among all the parties that to-night was to be a
pitched battle, and they began at once, briskly. Yet, in spite of their
universal determination, midnight arrived without anything decisive.
Another hour passed over, and then Tom Cogit kept touching the Baron's
elbow and whispering in a voice which everybody could understand. All
this meant that supper was ready. It was brought into the room.

Gaming has one advantage, it gives you an appetite; that is to say, so
long as you have a chance remaining. The Duke had thousands; for at
present his resources were unimpared, and he was exhausted by the
constant attention and anxiety of five hours. He passed over the
delicacies and went to the side-table, and began cutting himself some
cold roast beef. Tom Cogit ran up, not to his Grace, but to the Baron,
to announce the shocking fact that the Duke of St. James was enduring
great trouble; and then the Baron asked his Grace to permit Mr. Cogit to
serve him. Our hero devoured: we use the word advisedly, as fools say in
the House of Commons: he devoured the roast beef, and rejecting the
Hermitage with disgust, asked for porter.

They set to again fresh as eagles. At six o'clock accounts were so
complicated that they stopped to make up their books. Each played with
his memoranda and pencil at his side. Nothing fatal had yet happened.
The Duke owed Lord Dice about five thousand pounds, and Temple Grace
owed him as many hundreds. Lord Castlefort also was his debtor to the
tune of seven hundred and fifty, and the Baron was in his books, but
slightly. Every half-hour they had a new pack of cards, and threw the
used one o