The Viscount stared. “Just as you say, of course, but I don’t care to see that fellow Lethbridge dancing attendance on my sister, and so I tell you!”
“Ah, Pelham!” The Viscount, who had turned to go back into the card-room, checked, and looked over his shoulder. “Nor do I,” said Rule pensively.
“Oh!” said the Viscount. He had a flash of insight. “Don’t want me to meddle, eh?”
“You see, my dear boy,” said his lordship apologetically, “I am not really such a fool as you think me.”
The Viscount grinned, promised that there should be no meddling and went back to make up for lost time in the card-room. True to his word, he arrived in Grosvenor Square next morning and impressively planked fifty pounds in bills down on the table before Rule. His luck, it seemed, had turned.
Never one to neglect opportunity, he spent a week riotously following his rare good fortune. No less than five bets of his making were entered in the book at White’s; he won four thousand in a night at Pharaoh, lost six at quinze on Wednesday, recovered and arose a winner on Thursday, on Friday walked into the hazard-room at Almack’s and took his seat at the fifty-guinea table.
“What, Pel, I thought you was done up!” exclaimed Sir Roland Pommeroy, who had been present on the disastrous Wednesday.
“Done up? Devil a bit!” replied the Viscount. “My luck’s in.” He proceeded to fix two pieces of leather round his wrist to protect his ruffles. “Laid Finch a pony on Tuesday Sally Danvers would be the lighter of a boy by Monday.”
“Ecod, you’re mad, Pel!” said Mr Fox. “She’s had four girls already!”
“Mad be damned!” quoth the Viscount. “I had the news on the way here. I’ve won.”