"I'm not gambling on the property," he said softly. "Oh, dear, no, young fiancée, I'm not gambling on the property."
"Then what on earth are you gambling on?" she asked, a little piqued.
"On me," said Bones in the same tone. "On poor old silly ass Bones, and I'm coming through!"
He got up and came across to her and laid his big hand on her shoulder gently.
"If I don't come through, I shan't be a beggar. I shall have enough to build a jolly little place, where we can raise cows and horses and vegetables of all descriptions, dear old typewriter. And if I do come through, we'll still have that same place—only perhaps we'll have more cows and a pig or two."
She laughed, and he raised her smiling lips to his and kissed them.
Mr. de Vinne had dined well and had enjoyed an evening's amusement. He had been to the Hippodrome, and his enjoyment had been made the more piquant by the knowledge that Mr. Augustus Tibbetts had as good as placed ten thousand pounds in his pocket. He was a surprised man, on returning to Sloane Square, to discover, waiting in the hall, his unwilling benefactor.
"Why, Mr. Tibbetts," he said, "this is a great surprise."
"Yes," said Bones, "I suppose it is, old Mr. de Vinne." And he coughed solemnly, as one who was the guardian of a great secret.
"Come in," said Mr. de Vinne, more genial than ever. "This is my little den"—indicating a den which the most fastidious of lions would not have despised. "Sit down and have a cigar, old man. Now, what brings you here to-night?"