“Two thousand to one be it,” said Frobisher, while the least possible smile might be detected on his usually immovable features. “There is no knowing how to word this bet,” said he, at last, after two or three efforts, followed by as many erasures; “you must write it yourself.”
Linton took the pencil, and wrote rapidly for a few seconds.
“Will that do?” said he.
And Frobisher read to himself: “'Mr. Linton, two thousand to one with Lord C. Frobisher, that he, T. L., on the anniversary of this day, shall preside as master of the house Tubbermore, by due right and title, and not by any favor, grace, or sanction of any one whatsoever.”
“Yes; that will do, perfectly,” said Frobisher, as he closed the book, and restored it to his pocket.
“Was the champagne so strong as you expected?” whispered Upton, as he passed behind Frobisher's chair.
A very knowing nod of acquiescence was the only reply.
Indeed, it did not require the practised shrewdness of Lord Charles, or his similarly sharp-eyed friends, to see that Linton's manner was very different from his habitual calm collectedness, while he continued to drink on, with the air of a man that was resolved on burying his faculties in the excitement of wine.