"Game of picquet, old man?" he inquired.
"No, thanks. Get another mug!"
This was rude of Pip, but Cullyngham took it angelically.
"Dear old Pip!" he cooed. "I wish I could say caustic things with that air. It's so effective."
At this moment Gresley came up the steps.
"Ah, here's my man!" exclaimed Cullyngham. "You are a sportsman, anyhow, Gresley. Come and have a hand at picquet till lunch."
Gresley, much flattered at this notice from a celebrity, agreed readily, and the pair disappeared into the dressing-room, where, since the rain continued for the greater part of the day, they were destined to spend a considerable time.
IV
That evening there was an impromptu dance. It was much the same as other dances. There was plenty of music and champagne and laughter; and as usual several people tried, and as usual failed, to solve the problem of how it is that an ethereal-looking and fragile slip of a girl, wholly incapable of carrying a scuttle of coals upstairs or of walking five miles without collapsing, can go through an arduous night's exercise, waltzing strong men into a state of coma, without turning a hair.
Pip did his duty manfully, though his glimpses of Elsie were few and far between. That young lady, whether by accident or design, had filled her card rather fully before Pip reached her side. Consequently it was something like midnight when the piano and violin struck up the waltz that she had promised him, and Pip, hastily returning the eldest Miss Calthrop to her base of operations, braced himself for the moment of the evening.