Presently I was sought out by Mr. Topham Beauclerk, who had heard of the episode below and wished to hear more.  He swore at the duke.

“He will be run through some day, and serve him jolly right,” said he.  “Bet you twenty pounds Charles Fox does it!  His Grace knows he has the courage to fight him.”

“The courage!” I repeated.

“Yes.  Angelo says the duke has diabolical skill.  And then he won’t fight fair.  He killed young Atwater on a foul, you know.  Slipped on the wet grass, and Chartersea had him pinned before he caught his guard.  But there is Lady Di a-calling, a-calling.”

“Do all the women cheat in America too?” asked Topham, as we approached.

I thought of my Aunt Caroline, and laughed.

“Some,” I answered.

“They will game, d—­n ’em,” said Topham, as tho’ he had never gamed in his life.  “And they will cheat, till a man has to close his eyes to keep from seeing their pretty hands.  And they will cry, egad, oh so touchingly, if the luck goes against them in spite of it all.  Only last week I had to forgive Mrs Farnham an hundred guineas.  She said she’d lost her pin-money twice over, and was like to have wept her eyes out.”

Thus primed in Topham’s frank terms, I knew what to expect.  And I found to my amusement he had not overrun the truth.  I lost like a stoic, saw nothing, and discovered the straight road to popularity.

“The dear things expect us to make it up at the clubs,” whispered he.

I discovered how he had fallen in love with his wife, Lady Diana, and pitied poor Bolingbroke heartily for having lost her.  She was then in her prime,—­a beauty, a wit, and a great lady, with a dash of the humanities about her that brought both men and women to her feet.

“You must come to see me, Mr. Carvel,” said she.  “I wish to talk to you of Dorothy.”

“Your Ladyship believes me versed in no other subject?” I asked.

“None other worth the mention,” she replied instantly; “Topham tells me you can talk horses, and that mystery of mysteries, American politics.  But look at Miss Manners Dow.  I’ll warrant she is making Sir Charles see to his laurels, and young Stavordale is struck dumb.”

I looked up quickly and beheld Dolly surrounded by a circle of admirers.

“Mark the shot strike!” Lady Di continued, between the deals; “that time Chartersea went down.  I fancy he is bowled over rather often,” she said slyly.  “What a brute it is.  And they say that that little woman she has for a father imagines a union with the duke will redound to his glory.”

“They say,” remarked Mrs. Meynel, sitting next me, “that the duke has thumbscrews of some kind on Mr. Manners.”

“Miss Manners is able to take care of herself,” said Topham.

“‘On dit’, that she has already refused as many dukes as did her Grace of Argyle,” said Mrs. Meynel.