drop him in London, and come back. That's what you must do."
A delicate pink flush might have been seen to spread itself over Lord Dreever's face. He began to look like an angry rabbit. He had not a great deal of pride in his composition, but the thought of the ignominious role that Hargate was sketching out for him stirred what he had to its shallow bottom. Talking on, Hargate managed to add the last straw.
"Of course," he said, "that money you lost to me at picquet—what was it? Twenty? Twenty pounds, wasn't it? Well, we would look on that as canceled, of course. That will be all right."
His lordship exploded.
"Will it?" he cried, pink to the ears. "Will it, by George? I'll pay you every frightful penny of it to-morrow, and then you can clear out, instead of Pitt. What do you take me for, I should like to know?"
"A fool, if you refuse my offer."
"I've a jolly good mind to give you a most frightful kicking."
"I shouldn't try, if I were you. It's not the sort of game you'd shine at. Better stick to picquet."
"If you think I can't pay your rotten money—"
"I do. But, if you can, so much the better. Money is always useful."
"I may be a fool in some ways—"
"You understate it, my dear man."
