My lord divested himself of his long cloak and shook out his hitherto tucked-up ruffles. From the pocket of his elegant scarlet riding coat he drew a snuffbox, which he opened languidly. With his eyes resting quizzically on O’Hara’s face, he took a delicate pinch of snuff and minced across the room.

Miles laughed.

“What’s this?”

“This, my dear friend, is Sir Anthony Ferndale, Bart.!” He bowed with great flourish.

“Ye look it. But come over here, Sir Anthony Ferndale, Bart., and tell me everything.”

Jack perched on the edge of the desk and swung his leg.

“Well really, I do not think there is much to tell that you do not already know, Miles. You know all about Dare’s card-party, for instance, precisely six years ago?”