“Yet he did not contrive more than to wound Bellasis.”
“I doubt if he put his whole skill into the business,” Strangwayes said quickly. “Come, Hugh, try a hand at primero with me,—unless you fear I worst you there.”
He drew the cards from his pocket, and they sat down to the table by the fire. How many games they played Hugh did not heed; he dealt recklessly and talked and laughed his loudest; sometimes he won of Strangwayes, sometimes he lost, but it all mattered nothing. He was in the thick of a boisterous exposition of the merits of the hand he held, when some one knocked at the door. “Come!” Strangwayes cried eagerly, and sprang to his feet.
The door was pushed open, and Ridydale, spattered to the thighs, walked in. “A letter for you, sir, from Colonel Gwyeth,” he said, crossing to Hugh. “The colonel lay from his quarters yesternight, and came not back till late this morning.”
This last was spoken more to Strangwayes than to Hugh, but the boy did not heed. He was tearing open the letter with fingers that shook with impatience. It was very brief, he saw at first glance; then he read:—
Worthy Sir:
For something like forty years I have contrived unaided to keep my honor and my reputation clear. By the grace of Heaven I hope to do so for forty years longer, still without a boy’s assistance. Quit at once this absurd quarrel you have entered on. Take yourself back to your quarters. I shall myself deal with Master Bellasis.
Your obedient servant,
Alan Gwyeth.
Hugh read the paper over once more, slowly, then passed it to Dick. “That is what he writes me,” he said without passion, and getting up went to fetch a standish and paper from an open cupboard in one corner of the room.