Farrell flushed with pleasure at Sir Percival's commendation.
"I' faith," he answered, "even in Ireland we are not entirely lacking in taste."
"No, not entirely," observed the baronet. "And the cards, Terence? Does Fortune smile upon you these days?"
"Not so frequently as my pocket demands, sir. To tell the truth, I 've played in most villainous luck this last week."
"Then possibly you would regard the opportunity to earn one hundred pounds with favoring eye?"
"Would I? Try me, Sir Percival," answered Farrell eagerly.
"Very well, Terence," replied the baronet, "but whether you accept or refuse my proposition you bind yourself as an honorable man to repeat to no one what I shall suggest?"
"Of course," answered Farrell. "You may confide in me, Sir Percival."
"I have work for that infernally clever brain of yours. One hundred pounds if you will devise a scheme that parts Bessie Dyke from this Tom Moore who annoys me."
It cannot be said that Farrell was astonished at the words of Sir Percival. Nevertheless, that such a great and clever man should consider it advisable to obtain assistance in outwitting so comparatively rustic an individual as Tom Moore, was, in the youth's eyes, rather a damaging admission of weakness. At least so he regarded it, for the moment not realizing that to a gentleman of large fortune it was far more satisfactory to busy another's brain than to greatly exert his own, even though the result of the latter might be more pleasing in the end.