He found Lord Rickmansworth alone, but quite content.  It was one of his happy characteristics that he existed with delight under almost any circumstances.  One of his team was lame, and a great friend of his was sulky and had sent him away, and yet he sat radiantly cheerful, with a large cigar in his mouth and a small terrier by his side, subjecting every lady who passed to a respectful and covert but none the less searching and severe examination.

“I say, Rick, have you seen Haddington lately?”

“Yes; he’s gone down the road with Kate Bernard to play tennis, or some such foolery.”

“With Kate?”

“Rather!  Didn’t expect anything else, did you?”

“Does he mean to marry that girl?” asked Ayre, with a face of great innocence, much as if it had just occurred to him.

“Well, he can’t, unless she chucks old Eugene over.”

“Will she, do you think?”

“Well, I’m afraid not.  I’ve got some money on that they’re never married, but I don’t see my way to handling it.”

“Much?”

“Well, no; about twopence-halfpenny—­a fancy bet.”

“I’m glad it’s nothing, because I want you to help me, and you couldn’t have if you had anything on; besides, you shouldn’t bet on such things.”

“Oh, I’m not going to meddle with the thing.  It’s enough work to prevent one’s self getting married, without troubling about other people.  But I rather like you telling me not to bet on it!”

“She wouldn’t suit Eugene.”

“No; lead him the devil of a life.”

“She don’t care for him.”

“Not a straw.”

“Then, why don’t she break it off?”

“Ah, you innocent?” said Rickmansworth, with a broad grin.  “Never heard of such a thing as money in the case, did you?  Where have you been these last five-and-forty years?”

“Your raillery’s a little fatiguing, Rick, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“Say anything you like, old chap, as long as it isn’t swearing.  That’s verbot here—­penalty one mark—­see regulations.  You must go outside, if you want to curse, barring of course you’re a millionaire and like to make a splash.”

“Rick, Rick, you do not amuse me.  I do not belong to the Albatross Club.”

“No; over age,” replied his companion blandly, and chuckled violently.

“I like to score off old Ayre, you know,” he said, in reporting the episode afterward.  “He thinks himself smart.”

“But look here.  I want you to do this:  you go to Haddington and stir him up; tell him to bustle along; tell him Kate is fooling him, and make him put it to her—­yes or no.”

“Why? it’s not my funeral!”

“Is that your latest American?  I wish you’d find native slang; we used in my day; but I’ll tell you why.  It’s because she’s keeping him on till she sees what Eugene’ll do.  She’s treating Eugene shamefully.”

“Oh, stow all that!  Eugene is not so remarkably strict, you know.”  And Lord Rickmansworth winked.