"Hate cards," added Lord Carleton.

"They are stupid things at best," observed
the sultan, loftily. "Give me hazard."

The baronet looked at him. " You must
have oceans of money, Mr. Greyfaunt," he
observed.

"Not much, but enough," Edgar replied,
with something akin to a blush.

"I am glad to hear it. People call me rich;
yet I daren't play at hazard."

"You played too much when you were young,
Long," his lordship, who was conscious that
Edgar was not very well pleased with the remark,
interposed. " Greyfaunt will soon have enough of
hazard. It's like rowing. When a fellow begins
to know something about it, it's time for him to
leave it off. But still, all this by no means helps
us to settle the question, 'Where shall we go?'"

"I shall go home," Sir William Long said,
wearily.

"You've no home to go to, most misanthropic
bachelor, except those dreary chambers in the
Albany, where you bury yourself to smoke
cigars twenty times too strong for you, and
read Crebillon the Younger, or Butler's Lives
of the Saints. Why on earth don't you fall in
love and marry?"

"I never was in love but once," the baronet
made answer, gravely, " and that was with
a little girl scarcely nine years old. I don't
think I could marry her; for I am grey and
broken, now; and she must be a young woman
by this time."

"Was the attachment reciprocal?"

"I think so. I never saw her but once in my
life; but I gave her some sugar-plums, and she
let me kiss her at parting."

"What was her Christian name— sans
indiscrétion?"

"Lily."

Edgar Greyfaunt pricked up his ears. " Why,
I knew a little girl called Lily," he cried, " and
not so long ago, either."

"Not such a very uncommon name," yawned
Lord Carleton.

"My aunt adopted a poor relation," put in
Thomas Tuttleshell, " whose name was Hannah;
but she was a sentimental woman was my
aunt, and changed the girl's name to Lily."

"A most interesting piece of family history,"
sneered his highness, who misliked, he scarcely
knew why, the universally popular Thomas.
"Have you many poor relations, Mr. Tuttleshell?”

"Plenty," answered Tom, cheerfully. " The
very poorest of my poor relations has had the
honour of making a fourth at a very pleasant
dinner-party at the Pilgrims' Club, Park-lane, this
very evening." Hereby Tom managed to kill two
birds with one stone; to give Greyfaunt a Rowland
for his Oliver; and to pay Lord Carleton,
who was the Amphitryon, a neat little compliment.
Yet the good fellow winced somewhat
as he replied to the young man. He knew all
about Mr. Edgar Greyfaunt. " Why should that
brainless puppy insult me?" he thought. " Here's
a peer of the realm and a rich baronet. They
never say anything rude to me; yet here's a
stuck-up young jackanapes, who's burning the
candle at both ends, and in six months won't
have a penny of his old aunt's money, has never
a civil word to throw at Tom Tuttleshell.
Well: it don't much matter. He'll never get
on." Tom never bore malice; and to prophesy
that a man would never get on, was the severest
censure he ever passed on the conduct of an
enemy.

"The question," resumed Lord Carleton,
anxious to put an end to an embarrassing
discussion," again resolves itself into, 'Where shall
we go?'"

They were donning their great-coats in the
hall.

"Come home and smoke with me," suggested
the baronet.

"We will smoke, and not go home with thee,
hermit of the passage between Piccadilly and
Burlington-gardens:" thus Lord Carleton. " We
know how it would end. Three o'clock in the
morning, a discussion on the Cosmic Principle
in Nature; Greyfaunt losing his temper, and
challenging us all to fight duels before breakfast;
nervous affections brought on by excessive
indulgence in tobacco; and Tom Tuttleshell
asleep with his head in the coal-scuttle."

"Come and play lansquenet at my rooms,"
proposed the sultan. He knew that Tom never
played, and would go away (which was the very
thing he wanted) if the invitation were accepted;
and he would have been delighted to entertain
a peer and a baronet, even if he lost money to
them.

"Long has forsworn lansquenet, and I prefer
whist," objected his lordship. " Can no one
propose something else?"

"Why, there are plenty of places to go to,"
said Thomas, who saw that his peculiar office
was now in request, but who had prudently bided
his time until the invention of his superiors was
exhausted. You must not be obtrusive with the
lion, even if you be a jackal. Wait until king
Noble begins to scratch his mane with a puzzled
air, and turns an inquiring eye towards you.
Then you may hint to his majesty, but very
discreetly, where you think the nicest antelope is
to be found.

"Places to while away an hour positively
abound," pursued the diplomatic Thomas. " Will
you take a cab down to Pentonville, and see the
Grecian? A monstrous queer place, I can assure
you. I took an English duke and the Hospodar
of Moldavia (who insisted on wearing a
false nose, thinking there was a masquerade)
there one night, and they enjoyed themselves
immensely. Don't care about going so far?
Will you be my guests at a humble little club
in Frith-street, Soho? It is club night. Brattles
will be in the chair. You know Brattles,
the well-known sculptor of Satan putting on
the Serpent's Skin. There will be some capital
singing, and you'll meet some of the first wits
of the day. I'll introduce you all as Manchester
men, if Mr. Greyfaunt chooses to hide his
artistic candle under a bushel."