The protégé accepted this advice; several times going out of an evening, and betaking himself to a Saint John’s Wood tavern, where “euchre” was played in the parlour. He had now a stake, and could enjoy the game.
Twice, returning home at a late hour, he found the patron in his own parlour, quietly conversing with his wife. His lordship had simply called up to inquire after his health; and having also some instructions to communicate, had been impatiently awaiting his return.
The patron did not say impatiently. He would not have been so impolite. It was an interpolation proceeding from the lips of “Fan.”
And Swinton saw all this; and much more. He saw new bracelets glistening upon his wife’s wrist, diamond drops dangling from her ears, and a costly ring sparkling upon her finger—not there before!
He saw them, without inquiring whence they had come. He cared not; or if he did, it was not with any distaste at their secret bestowal. Sir Robert Cottrell saw them, with more displeasure than he.
Chapter Sixty Nine.
The Cabriolet.
There was but one thing for which Richard Swinton really now cared. He liked “euchre”; he would have relished revenge; but there was a thought to which both these enjoyments had become subservient.