Lord Huntingford strangely distrait, it seemed to Hugh, considering the amount at stake, shuffled the pack and offered them for the cut.  This conventional operation performed and his Lordship successful, he dealt the hands, at the same time giving the steward a sharp order to leave.  The man’s reception of his dismissal was so insolent that it attracted Hugh’s attention.  Looking up, to his surprise, he recognized his room steward.

“With whom have I the pleasure of playing?” came suddenly from Lord Huntingford.

“Ridgeway, Hugh—­”

Quick as the thought in the mind preceding it, inevitably connected, the name escaped unwittingly from his lips; for with the discovery of the steward’s identity there flashed like a bolt from the blue an appalling recollection!  Exposed to view on the table in his stateroom were valuable documents addressed to him by his banker, which he had forgotten to replace in his dispatch-box!

“Eh?  What’s that?  What name?” The interrogation, icily formal, told nothing; but upon its answer hinged limitless consequences.

Hugh was in a dilemma.  Should he correct himself, or rely on the slip passing unobserved?  The peculiar expression on the steward’s face returned to him; and he wondered if the knowledge of his adopting an incognito had been elicited from the garrulous servant, and the Englishman about to take advantage of it?  Reddening with anger as much against himself as against the cynical old aristocrat, who was cornering him cavalierly, he decided to brave exposure: 

“Ridge!  H.B.  Ridge is my name, Lord Huntingford!”

There was a reckless disregard of possibilities in the eyes that fastened themselves on the face of the nobleman for a clue, some enlightenment as to the impression produced; but all in vain.  The shrewd, small eyes answered the scrutiny impassively, and without as much as the flicker of an eyelid.  Taking one of the little ivory pegs, he stuck it in the starting hole at the end of the cribbage-board.  Unconsciously, while waiting for the mental move which would determine his future address, Hugh following the other’s lead, picked up one and pegged.  Then to his infinite relief Lord Huntingford apparently allowed the correction, accepted the alias.

“Ridge!” he pronounced with malicious uncertainty.  “Ridge!  I am acquainted with the English Ridges;” and the sneer in the voice increased.  “Do I understand you to pretend that you are one of that distinguished family?”

Hugh clenched his lips and his blood boiled at the treatment.

“I am an American, Lord Huntingford,” spoken easily, his pride showing only by a perceptible lift of the head; “and my ancestors were not Tories in the Revolution.  Relationship, if any, would be—­er—­distant.  I claim none.”

“A trifle strained,” admitted his Lordship, laughing disagreeably.