Mr. Pomeroy’s next words showed that this aspect of the case was in his mind.  ‘Damme, she ought to be glad to marry any one of us!’ he said, as he packed the cards and handed them to the others that each might shuffle them.  ’If she is not, the worse for her!  We’ll put her on bread and water until she sees reason!’

‘D’you think Dunborough knew, Tommy?’ said Lord Almeric, grinning at the thought of his friend’s disappointment.  ‘That she had the money?’

Dunborough’s name turned the tutor grave.  He shook his head.

‘He’ll be monstrous mad!  Monstrous!’ Lord Almeric said with a chuckle; the wine he had drunk was beginning to affect him.  ’He has paid the postboys and we ride.  Well, are you ready?  Ready all?  Hallo!  Who is to draw first?’

‘Let’s draw for first,’ said Mr. Pomeroy.  ‘All together!’

‘All together!’

     ’For it’s hey, derry down, and it’s over the lea. 
     And it’s out with the fox in the dawning!’

sang my lord in an uncertain voice.  And then, ’Lord!  I’ve a d——­d deuce!  Tommy has it!  Tommy’s Pam has it!  No, by Gad!  Pomeroy, you have won it!  Your Queen takes!’

‘And I shall take the Queen!’ quoth Mr. Pomeroy.  Then ceremoniously, ’My first draw, I think?’

‘Yes,’ said Mr. Thomasson nervously.

‘Yes,’ said Lord Almeric, gloating with flushed face on the blind backs of the cards as they lay in a long row before him.  ‘Draw away!’

‘Then here’s for a wife and five thousand a year!’ cried Pomeroy.  ’One, two, three—­oh, hang and sink the cards!’ he continued with a violent execration, as he flung down the card he had drawn.  ’Seven’s the main!  I have no luck!  Now, Mr. Parson, get on!  Can you do better?’

Mr. Thomasson, a damp flush on his brow, chose his card gingerly, and turned it with trembling fingers.  Mr. Pomeroy greeted it with a savage oath, Lord Almeric with a yell of tipsy laughter.  It was an eight.

‘It is bad to be crabbed, but to be crabbed by a smug like you!’ Mr. Pomeroy cried churlishly.  Then, ‘Go on, man!’ he said to his lordship.  ‘Don’t keep us all night.’

Lord Almeric, thus adjured, turned a card with a flourish.  It was a King!

‘Fal-lal-lal, lal-lal-la!’ he sang, rising with a sweep of the arm that brought down two candlesticks.  Then, seizing a glass and filling it from the punch-bowl, ’Here’s your health once more, my lady.  And drink her, you envious beggars!  Drink her!  You shall throw the stocking for us.  Lord, we’ll have a right royal wedding!  And then—­’

‘Don’t you forget the five thousand,’ said Pomeroy sulkily.  He kept his seat, his hands thrust deep into his breeches pockets; he looked the picture of disappointment.

’Not I, dear lad!  Not I!  Lord, it is as safe as if your banker had it.  Just as safe!’

‘Umph!  She has not taken you yet!’ Pomeroy muttered, watching him; and his face relaxed.  ‘No, hang me! she has not!’ he continued in a tone but half audible.  ’And it is even betting she will not.  She might take you drunk, but d—­n me if she will take you sober!’ And, cheered by the reflection, he pulled the bowl to him, and, filling a glass, ’Here’s to her, my lord,’ he said, raising it to his lips.  ’But remember you have only two days.’