"Trevalyon would be a decent fellow enough if you did not all kneel to
him," growled a county magnate. "I wish he would go to Salt Lake city
and take his harem with him."
"I wonder if he has his eye on me," cried gay Mrs. Wingfield; "you men
do sometimes take a fancy to other men's belongings. If he does I
shall have to succumb instanter. Eustace, dear fellow, has rather a
consumptive look, now I come to notice him."
"He may drop off in time," laughed the huntress; "but I am afraid I've
lost my whip," she added, dolefully, brushing past Colonel Haughton,
standing beside Lady Esmondet, and conversing in an undertone with
Claxton and Trevalyon.
"Lost your whip!" exclaimed her host with forced gaiety; "that
dare-devil has picked it up, then."
"Say that he only has the whip-hand _pour le present_, dear Sir
Lionel," said Mrs. Wingfield, taking both his hands in a pretty,
beseeching way.
"Or we women shall eat our hearts out in pity for your chains," said
Vaura softly, coming near him.
"You are a pretty group of gamblers," he said, thinking there had been
a wager among them; "but I must win when fair hands throw the dice.
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