Gayest of the gay, and loudest among them all, was Phillip Redgill, who, propped up with pillows on a luxurious sofa, joined the gamblers, and puffed a cigar with as much coolness as if nothing were the matter with him.
The hours flew by, and Phillip neglected his appointment with Captain Jack.
When he occasionally thought of his promise, he only smiled as he reflected,
“That long-legged devil recognised me. Well, chance makes us acquainted with queer people sometimes; that comes of getting into scrapes upon the road. I suppose he wants to borrow some money of me, that’s all. Well, well, he’s an ugly-looking rascal, though, and I like not his looks. I’ll give that worthy a call to-morrow; I can’t meet him to-night; if I were to take a sedan chair all that distance it would re-open this cursed wound that Wildfire Ned gave me; d—m him!”
During the night, other arrivals were announced, both lords and ladies of doubtful standing in society, brilliant in silks and paint.
Music, light laughter, jokes, wit, and repartee, echoed through Phillip’s pleasant suite of rooms.
Languishing smiles, whispered words, eloquent winks, nods, and pressure of the hand, passed and repassed from one to another.
Some sang, others danced; here was a boisterous wine party, and there a gossiping set.
The hours flew by, nor did any one give heed to thought or care.
Midnight chimed from the church towers.