“He had forgotten!” cried Avon, and went off into another of the noisy laughs that had more than once caused Mr. Nash to shudder and to close his august eyes. “You’ll be the death of me, Devil! Gad! but you will!”

“Oh, I trust not. Thank you, Wilding.” He accepted the glass that Tom offered, and sipped delicately.

“But you’ve not answered!” reminded Fortescue from another table. He dealt the cards round expertly. “Is it hands off, perhaps?”

“Certainly,” replied his Grace. “It generally is, Frank, as you know.”

“To my cost!” was the laughing rejoinder, and Fortescue rubbed his sword arm as if in memory of some hurt. “You pinked me finely, Tracy!”

“Clumsily, Frank, clumsily. It might have been quicker done.”