“Damnathion!” said the Viscount cheerfully. “Will you thtake your grey againtht my Terror?”

“Thunder and turf, Fotheringham! You’ll lose him!” cried Nettlefold warningly. “Don’t stake the Terror!”

“Nonthenth! Do you take me, Belmanoir?”

“Certainly,” said the Duke, and threw.

“Oh, an you are in a gaming mood, I will play you for the right to try my hand with the dark beauty!” called Markham across the room.

“Against what?” asked Fortescue.

“Oh, what he wills!”

The Viscount had cast and lost, and his Grace won the second throw.

“It appears my luck is in,” he remarked. “I will stake my beauty against your estates, Markham.”