Fleetwood scrutinized the cast of his features and the touch of his fingers on the crispy paper.
'Come to another of these "green fields,"' he returned briefly. 'The game here is child's play.'
Urging Virgin Luck not to quit his initiatory table, the captain reluctantly went at their heels. Shortly before the tables were clad in mantles for the night, he reported to Livia one of the great cases of Virgin Luck; described it, from the silver piece to the big heap of notes, and drew on his envy of the fellow to sketch the indomitable coolness shown in following or in quitting a run. 'That fellow it is, Fleetwood's tag-rag; holds his head like a street-fiddler; Woodler or some name. But there's nothing to be done if we don't cultivate him. He must have pocketed a good three thousand and more. They had a quarrel about calculations of chances, and Fleet ran the V up his forehead at a piece of impudence. Fellow says some high-flying stuff; Fleet brightens like a Sunday chimney-sweep. If I believed in Black Arts, upon my word!'
'Russett is not usually managed with ease,' the lady said.
Her placid observation was directed on the pair then descending the steps.
'Be careful how you address, this gentleman,' she counselled Abrane.
'The name is not Woodier, I know. It must be the right name or none.'
Livia's fairest smile received them. She heard the captain accosting the child of luck as Mr. Woodier, and she made a rustle in rising to take Fleetwood's arm.
'We haven't dined, we have to sup,' said he.
'You are released at the end of the lamps. You redeem your ring, Russett, and I will restore it. I have to tell you, Henrietta is here to-morrow.'
'She might be in a better place.'