“Yes, I know.  And—­do you?” The girl’s tone was cutting.

“Lord” Bill shrugged.  Then,—­

“As yet I have not had that pleasure.”

“And if I know anything of Lablache you never will,” put in Mrs. Abbot, curtly.  “He is not given to parting easily.  The qualification most necessary amongst gentlemen in the days of our grandfathers was keen gambling.  You and John, had you lived in those days, might have aspired to thrones.”

“Yes—­or taken to the road.  You remember, even then, it was necessary to be a ‘gentleman’ of the road.”

“Lord” Bill laughed in his lazy fashion.  His keen gray eyes were half veiled with eyelids which, seemed too weary to lift themselves.  He was a handsome man, but his general air of weariness belied the somewhat eagle cast of countenance which was his.  Mrs. Abbot, watching him, thought that the deplorable lassitude which he always exhibited masked a very different nature.  Jacky possibly had her own estimation of the man.  Whatever it was, her friendship for him was not to be doubted, and, on his part, he never attempted to disguise his admiration of her.

A woman is often a much keener observer of men than she is given credit for.  A man is frequently disposed to judge another man by his mental talents and his peculiarities of temper—­or blatant self-advertisement.  A woman’s first thought is for that vague, but comprehensive trait “manliness.  She drives straight home for the peg upon which to hang her judgment.  That is why in feminine regard the bookworm goes to the wall to make room for the athlete.  Possibly Jacky and Mrs. Abbot had probed beneath “Lord” Bill’s superficial weariness and discovered there a nature worthy of their regard.  They were both, in their several ways, fond of this scion of a noble house.

“It is all very well for you good people to sit there and lecture—­or, at least, say ‘things,’” “Lord” Bill went on.  “A man must have excitement.  Life becomes a burden to the man who lives the humdrum existence of ranch life.  For the first few years it is all very well.  He can find a certain excitement in learning the business.  The ‘round-ups’ and branding and re-branding of cattle, these things are fascinating—­for a time.  Breaking the wild and woolly broncho is thrilling and he needs no other tonic; but when one has gone through all this and he finds that no Broncho—­or, for that matter, any other horse—­ever foaled cannot be ridden, it loses its charm and becomes boring.  On the prairie there are only two things left for him to do—­drink or gamble.  The first is impossible.  It is low, degrading.  Besides it only appeals to certain senses, and does not give one that ‘hair-curling’ thrill which makes life tolerable.  Consequently the wily pasteboard is brought forth—­and we live again.”

“Stuff,” remarked Mrs. Abbot, uncompromisingly.

“Bill, you make me laugh,” exclaimed Jacky, smiling up into his face.  “Your arguments are so characteristic of you.  I believe it is nothing but sheer indolence that makes you sit down night after night and hand over your dollars to that—­that Lablache.  How much have you lost to him this week?”