He put his hand to the Mechlin cravat about his throat and drew out the curious pin he nearly always wore. It was an intaglio of the goddess Athene with her shield and owl, and looked to be very old. He held it in the palm of his hand for Horatia to see. “That has come down in my family through very many years,” he said. “I will stake it against a lock of your hair.”
“Is it an heirloom?” she inquired, touching it with the tip of her finger.
“Almost,” he said. “It has a charming legend attached to it, and no Lethbridge would ever let it out of his possession.”
“And w-would you really stake it?” Horatia asked wonder-ingly.
He put it back in his cravat. “For a lock of your hair, yes,” he answered. “ I am a gamester.”
“You shall n-never say that I was n-not!” Horatia said. “I will play you for my hair! And to show I really d-do play in earnest—” She thrust her hand into her reticule, searching for something—“There!” She held up a small pair of scissors.
He laughed. “But how fortunate, Horry!”
She put the scissors back in the reticule.”You haven’t w-won it yet, sir.”
“True,” he agreed. “Shall we say the best of three games?”
“D-done!” said Horatia. “P-play or pay! I have finished my supper, and I should l-like to play now.”