“It is meant for fact,” said Frobisher, with a steady coolness in his air and accent.
“A fact! and not in jest, then!” said he, approaching where the other sat, and speaking in a low voice.
“That's very quarrelsome wine, that dry champagne,” said Frobisher, lazily; “don't drink any more of it.”
Linton tried to smile; the effort, at first not very successful, became easier after a moment, and it was with a resumption of his old manner he said,—
“I 'll take you two to one in fifties that I act the host here this day twelvemonth.”
“You hear the offer, gentlemen?” said Frobisher, addressing the party. “Of course it is meant without any reservation, and so I take it.”
He produced a betting-book as he said this, and began to write in it with his pencil.
“Would you prefer it in hundreds?” said Linton.
Frobisher nodded an assent.
“Or shall we do the thing sportingly, and say two thousand to one?” continued he.