Miss Crofton rose to her feet.
"Have you noticed, Bobbie, that a man never prizes that which he can have for the asking?" She paused. "I'll tell you what I'll do: I'll bet you a hundred cigarettes that Winn doesn't make this easy conquest."
"You're throwing your money away," said Bobbie, warningly.
"Are you taking it?" asked Miss Crofton, coolly.
"Oh," said Bobbie, with a shrug, "if you're set on it, certainly."
She glanced at the watch on her wrist.
"The Lion will be here by now. We had better be going in to see him. By the way, old man, you remember my preference for Turkish?"
"Oh, yes," replied Bobbie, smiling grimly; "but there will be no occasion to tax my memory, I assure you. It's a 'cert' for me, worse luck!" he added, mournfully.
He rose from the seat, and together they strolled towards the house.
Alan Winn had arrived half an hour ago, and was now strolling on the terrace with Earl Kenwell, engaged in talking over business matters. A casual observer would have taken the pair for father and son. The Earl, although approaching his fifty-third year, was still erect, his complexion fresh, his eyes keen. Winn was perhaps a trifle the taller of the two; he had well-cut features, a determined-looking chin, and a pair of grey eyes that gazed steadily from their depths. From the other end of the terrace, Lady Dorothy, who was reading a newspaper to old Lady Steele, paused now and again to shoot a glance at the broad-shouldered man walking by her father's side.