“I have heard, Mr. Carvel, that you can ride any mount offered you.”

“Od’s, and so he can!” cried Jack.  “I’ll take oath on that.”

“I will lay you an hundred guineas, my Lord,” says his Grace, very off-hand, “that Mr. Carvel does not sit Baltimore’s Pollux above twenty minutes.”

“Done!” says Jack, before I could draw breath.

“I’ll take your Grace for another hundred,” calmly added Mr. Fox.

“It seems to me, your Grace,” I cried, angry all at once, “it seems to me that I am the one to whom you should address your wagers.  I am not a jockey, to be put up at your whim, and to give you the chance to lose money.”

Chartersea swung around my way.

“Your pardon, Mr. Carvel,” said he, very coolly, very politely; “yours is the choice of the wager.  And you reject it, the others must be called off.”

“Slife!  I double it!” I said hotly, “provided the horse is alive, and will stand up.”

“Devilish well put, Richard!” Mr. Fox exclaimed, casting off his restraint.

“I give you my word the horse is alive, sir,” he answered, with a mock bow; “’twas only yesterday that he killed his groom, at Hampstead.”

A few moments of silence followed this revelation.  It was Charles Fox who spoke first.

“I make no doubt that your Grace, as a man of honour,”—­he emphasized the word forcibly,—­“will not refuse to ride the horse for another twenty minutes, provided Mr. Carvel is successful.  And I will lay your Grace another hundred that you are thrown, or run away with.”

Truly, to cope with a wit like Mr. Fox’s, the duke had need for a longer head.  He grew livid as he perceived how neatly he had been snared in his own trap.

“Done!” he cried loudly; “done, gentlemen.  It only remains to hit upon time and place for the contest.  I go to York to-morrow, to be back this day fortnight.  And if you will do me the favour of arranging with Baltimore for the horse, I shall be obliged.  I believe he intends selling it to Astley, the showman.”

“And are we to keep it?” asks Mr. Fox.

“I am dealing with men of honour,” says the duke, with a bow:  “I need have no better assurance that the horse will not be ridden in the interval.”

“’Od so!” said Comyn, when we were out; “very handsome of him.  But I would not say as much for his Grace.”

And Mr. Fox declared that the duke was no coward, but all other epithets known might be called him.  “A very diverting evening, Richard,” said he; “let’s to your apartments and have a bowl, and talk it over.”

And thither we went.

I did not sleep much that night, but ’twas of Dolly I thought rather than of Chartersea.  I was abroad early, and over to inquire in Arlington Street, where I found she had passed a good night.  And I sent Banks a-hooting for some violets to send her, for I knew she loved that flower.