Mr. Bambridge was not yet come, bat would be sure to arrive by-and-by, said his friend Mr. Horrock; and Lydgate stayed, playing a game for the sake of passing the time.  That evening he had the peculiar light in the eyes and the unusual vivacity which had been once noticed in him by Mr. Farebrother.  The exceptional fact of his presence was much noticed in the room, where there was a good deal of Middlemarch company; and several lookers-on, as well as some of the players, were betting with animation.  Lydgate was playing well, and felt confident; the bets were dropping round him, and with a swift glancing thought of the probable gain which might double the sum he was saving from his horse, he began to bet on his own play, and won again and again.  Mr. Bambridge had come in, but Lydgate did not notice him.  He was not only excited with his play, but visions were gleaming on him of going the next day to Brassing, where there was gambling on a grander scale to be had, and where, by one powerful snatch at the devil’s bait, he might carry it off without the hook, and buy his rescue from his daily solicitings.

He was still winning when two new visitors entered.  One of them was a young Hawley, just come from his law studies in town, and the other was Fred Vincy, who had spent several evenings of late at this old haunt of his.  Young Hawley, an accomplished billiard-player, brought a cool fresh hand to the cue.  But Fred Vincy, startled at seeing Lydgate, and astonished to see him betting with an excited air, stood aside, and kept out of the circle round the table.

Fred had been rewarding resolution by a little laxity of late.  He had been working heartily for six months at all outdoor occupations under Mr. Garth, and by dint of severe practice had nearly mastered the defects of his handwriting, this practice being, perhaps, a little the less severe that it was often carried on in the evening at Mr. Garth’s under the eyes of Mary.  But the last fortnight Mary had been staying at Lowick Parsonage with the ladies there, during Mr. Farebrother’s residence in Middlemarch, where he was carrying out some parochial plans; and Fred, not seeing anything more agreeable to do, had turned into the Green Dragon, partly to play at billiards, partly to taste the old flavor of discourse about horses, sport, and things in general, considered from a point of view which was not strenuously correct.  He had not been out hunting once this season, had had no horse of his own to ride, and had gone from place to place chiefly with Mr. Garth in his gig, or on the sober cob which Mr. Garth could lend him.  It was a little too bad, Fred began to think, that he should be kept in the traces with more severity than if he had been a clergyman.  “I will tell you what, Mistress Mary—­it will be rather harder work to learn surveying and drawing plans than it would have been to write sermons,” he had said, wishing her to appreciate what he went through for her sake; “and as to Hercules and