“Good-night,” he said; and he opened the door of the cab for her and told the cabman her address; then—­rather slowly and absently—­he set out for the Garden Club.

The first person he beheld at the Garden Club was Octavius Quirk—­of course at the supper-table.

“Going to Lady Adela’s on the 3d?” said the bilious-looking Quirk, in a gay manner.

“I should want to be asked first,” was Lionel’s simple rejoinder.

“Ah!” said the other, complacently, “I heard you had not been much there lately.  A charming house—­most interesting—­quite delightful to see people of their station so eagerly devoted to the arts.  Music, painting, literature—­all the elegancies of life—­and all touched with a light and graceful hand.  You should read some of Lady Adela’s descriptions in her new book—­not seen it?—­no?—­ah, well, it will be out before long for the general world to read.  As I was saying, her descriptions of places abroad are simply charming—­charming.  There’s where the practised traveller comes in; no heavy and laborious work; the striking peculiarities hit off with the most delicate appreciation:  the fine fleur of difference noted everywhere.  Your bourgeois goes and rams his bull’s head against everything he meets; he’s in wonderment and ecstacy almost before he lands; he stares with astonishment at a fisherwoman on Calais pier and weeps maudlin tears over the masonry of the Sainte Chapelle.  Then Lady Adela’s style—­marvellous, marvellous.  I give you my word as an expert!  Full of distinction; choice; fastidious; penetrated everywhere by a certain je ne sais quoi of dexterity and aptitude; each word charged with color, as a critic might say.  You have not seen any of the sheets?” continued Mr. Quirk, with his mouth full of steak and olives.  “Dear me!  You haven’t quarrelled with Lady Adela, have you?  I did hear there was some little disappointment that you did not get Lady Sybil’s ‘Soldiers’ Marching Song’ introduced at the New Theatre; but I dare say the composer wouldn’t have his operetta interfered with.  Even you are not all-powerful.  However, Lady Adela is unreasonable if she has taken offence:  I will see that it is put right.”

“I wouldn’t trouble you—­thanks!” said Lionel, rather coldly; and then, having eaten a biscuit and drank a glass of claret and water, he went up-stairs to the card-room.

There were two tables occupied—­one party playing whist, the other poker; to the latter Lionel idly made his way.

“Coming in, Moore?”

“Oh, yes, I’ll come in.  What are you playing?”

“Usual thing:  sixpenny ante and five-shilling limit.”

“Let’s have it a shilling ante and a sovereign limit,” he proposed, as they made room for him at the table, and to this they agreed, and the game began.

At first Lionel could get no hands at all, but he never went out; sometimes he drew four cards to an ace or a queen, sometimes he took the whole five; while his losses, if steady, were not material.  Occasionally he bluffed, and got a small pot; but it was risky, as he was distinctly in a run of bad luck.  At last he was dealt nine, ten, knave, queen, ace, in different suite.  This looked better.