“Lord, I had! And ’twas the funniest fight I ever saw, with you as furious as could be and Devil cool as a cucumber. You were never much of a swordsman, Frank, but that morning you thrust so wildly that stap me if I didn’t think Devil would run you through. ’Stead of that he pinks you neatly through the sword-arm, and damme if you didn’t burst out laughing fit to split! And then we all walked off to breakfast with you, Frank, as jolly as sandboys. Heavens, yes. That was a fight!”

“It was amusing,” admitted Tracy at Fortescue’s elbow. “Don’t play, Frank.”

Fortescue flung his cards face downwards on the table. “Curse you, Tracy, you’ve brought bad luck!” he said entirely without rancour. “I had quite tolerable hands before you came.”

“Belmanoir, I will thtake my chestnut mare ’gaintht your new grey,” lisped the Viscount, coming up to the table, dice-box in hand.

“Stap me, but that is too bad!” cried Wilding. “Don’t take him, Devil! Have you seen the brute?”