"But George——"
"Pish, Jack! You'll never go for to deny ya' old friend?" Here the door opened and the company entered with a prodigious waving of hats, flirting of gold-mounted whips and jingling of spurs.
"Major d'Arcy, sir!" cried Sir Benjamin, "your very devoted, humble servant. My lord, yours! Ods my life, my dear Major d'Arcy, I joy to see you no worse, sir, after your desperate battle with nine bloodthirsty ruffians——"
"Four, Sir Benjamin——"
"Common report, sir, makes 'em twelve but I'm assured they were but nine——"
"Sir, they were but four," repeated the Major gently. "But gentlemen, you have lost one of your number—Mr. Dalroyd is gone, I understand?"
"Faith and so he has, sir," answered Mr. Marchdale petulantly, "clean gone and with eight hundred guineas o' mine and more of Alvaston's, not to mention——"
"But then we never had 'ny luck wi' th' cards, Tony," yawned his lordship.
"Luck!" spluttered Mr. Marchdale, "luck, d'ye call it——"
"Ahem!" exclaimed Sir Benjamin. "'Tis true Dalroyd is gone, sir, and suddenly, nor will I disguise the fact that his ahem!—his departure was in some sort a relief considering the deplorable scene 'twixt him and Viscount Merivale——"