“Well, now, I’ll go you double or quits.”

“Oh, certainly,” said Lionel, “if you like.  But I don’t think you should.  You are the winner; stick to what you’ve got.”

“Oh, I’ll give you a chance to get it all back,” the young man said; and this time Lionel dealt the cards.  And again the latter lost—­having to substitute an I.O.U. for L60 for its predecessor.

“Well, now, I’ll give you one more chance,” the winner said, with a laugh.

“I’m hanged if you shall, Johnny!” said one of the bystanders; and he had the courage to intervene and snatch up the cards.  “Come away to your beds, boys, and stop that nonsense!  You’ve lost enough, Moore; and this fellow would go on till Doomsday.”

But that insatiate young man was not to be beaten, after all.  When they were separating in the street below he drew Lionel aside.

“Look here, old man, why should we be deprived of our final little flutter?  I want to give you a chance of getting back the whole thing.”

“Not at all, my good fellow,” Lionel said, with a smile.  “Why don’t you keep the money and rest content?  Do you think I grudge it to you?”

“Come—­an absolutely last double or quits,” said the other, and he pulled out a coin from his pocket and put it between his two palms.  “Heads or tails?—­and then go home happy!”

“Well, since you challenge me, I’ll go this once more, and this once more only.  I call a tail.”

The upper hand was removed:  in the dull lamp-light the dusky gold coin was examined.

“It’s a head,” said Lionel, “so that’s all right, and it’s you who are to go home happy.  I’ll settle up with you to-morrow evening.  Do you want this hansom?—­I don’t:  I think I’d rather walk.  Good-night, Johnny.”

It was a long price to pay for a few hours of distraction and forgetfulness; still, he had had these; and the loss of the money, per se, did not affect him much.  He walked away home.  When he reached his rooms, there were some letters for him lying on the table; he took them and looked at them; he noticed one handwriting that used to be rather more familiar.  This letter he opened first.

AIVRON LODGE, CAMPDEN HILL, Feb. 23.

“MY DEAR MR. MOORE,—­It is really quite shocking the way you have neglected us of late, and I, at least, cannot imagine any reason.  Perhaps we have both been in fault.  My sisters and I have all been very busy, in our several ways; and then it is awkward you should have only the one Sunday evening free.  But there, let bygones be bygones, and come and dine with us on Sunday, March 3, at 8.  Forgive the short notice; I’ve had some trouble in trying to secure one, or two people whom I don’t know very well, and I couldn’t fix earlier.  The fact is, I want it to be an intellectual little dinner; and who could represent music and the drama so fitly as yourself?  I want only people with brains at it—­perhaps you