The St. James’s coffee-house was nearly empty; the candles had burnt to their sockets and only a sickly lamplight revealed the three gentlemen who sat together at a table scattered with cards. They had finished playing. One who had lost rose up without a word and reached down his hat and coat from the shining wall. Rose Lyndwood, a second loser, lifted his eyes to glance at him.

A clock without struck three. A sleepy drawer was slowly clearing some of the other tables. The place, but a little while since so noisy, had an extraordinarily dreary look.

“Good-night,” said Lord Sandys. He put on his hat and left the room with a firm step.

The Earl nodded. Cathcart, the winner, laughed.

“Sandys looks dashed,” he remarked.

“Probably ruined,” remarked my lord.

A fresh gust of air rushed in and stirred for a second the stale, smoke-laden atmosphere; then the door was closed again, and idle, heavy silence was unbroken.

The Earl pushed aside the backgammon board and the glasses, and leant his elbow on the table. He sat with his back to the door and opposite the shuttered window. He took his chin in his hand and stared at these blank shutters through half-closed eyes. He wore pearl-colour; at his throat was a large buckle of brilliants that sparkled with restless hues; his hair and his dress were tumbled, his face disfigured with a lazy expression of sneering distaste. At the corner of his mouth was the fantastic patch cut into the shape of a bat.

“You should have gone to Kensington to-night,” said Cathcart, who was leaning back and smoking. “I’ll wager you’ll hear of it.”

“Why should I have been there?” asked the Earl, without moving his eyes or changing his expression.

“You know, ’twas a Cabinet meeting, or some such foolery. But I am no agent of the Government.”

“Why, then, ’tis no matter of yours,” said Lord Lyndwood in the same tone.

“But something of yours,” answered the other. “Lud, how you throw away your chances! Newcastle said you might have been Chancellor or a Secretary of State by now had you cared. Don’t that fire you?” He laughed, then yawned.

“Why should I trouble about their soiled politics?” asked my lord indifferently. “What comes my way I’ll see to. But what is this all about? A parcel of niggers on the coast of Coromandel—Coromandel! Good Lord!”

Cathcart laughed again.

“I see you have got in your man.”

“My man?”

“Francis Boyle—to be Lord of the Bedchamber. I saw it today.”

“I haven’t looked at the Gazette” answered Rose Lyndwood. “I hope he will be pleased,” he added with a sneer. “It cost me more damned trouble than it was worth. Newcastle resisted, of course, and Pelham don’t like me.”

“Why did you do it?” asked Sir Thomas abruptly.

The Earl turned and fixed his eyes on him.

“I wonder,” he said languidly.

Cathcart returned his gaze curiously.

“So you haven’t seen the Gazette?”

“No. What’s in it now?”

“One of their paragraphs about you, my lord.” Cathcart put down his pipe, stretched himself and yawned again.

“I do not find them amusing,” smiled Rose Lyndwood.

Both fell on silence again. The door opened sharply, and a gentleman entered the coffee-house. My lord did not turn his head, but Sir Thomas looked with some surprise at the new-comer, who was not of a type common to taverns at this time of night.

He was a young man, alert, composed, graceful, with noticeable chestnut hair and eyes of the same hue; a peacock-blue mantle was wrapped about him. He took off his hat, spoke to the drawer and passed to the table behind the Earl, where the screen hid him from Cathcart’s observation.

“Who is that spark?” asked my lord. “He has a business-like tread for three in the morning.”

“I do not know him; ’tis no one I have seen here before.” Sir Thomas called for his bill and shifted from one pocket to another the roll of paper and gold he had won from the Earl and Lord Sandys. “I’m going,” he said, as he paid the drawer. “It is plaguy dull here, and late, too.”

“I’m well enough,” answered my lord, yawning. “Good-night.”

“Good-night!”

Sir Thomas got into his cloak and swaggered off; the door banged after him. My lord yawned again, and called for a pint of wine. The sombre chimes struck half-past three. The Earl eyed under drooping lids the stained glasses and cards before him, the closed window, the flickering lamp. He drank his wine slowly, and with a brooding face propped on his hand fell into a gloomy silence of miserable thoughts.

A quick step roused him; he glanced up to see the gentleman in the peacock mantle coming round the screen. He sat up, and it was not pleasure that flushed his cheek. He saw, standing the other side of the dismantled table, the elegant figure, the fresh handsome face, the masterful eyes of a man he did not love.

“I had not thought to see you here,” he said slowly.

“I followed your lordship,” answered Sir Francis Boyle.

“Followed me?” queried the Earl.

“I called at your house, my lord, and was advised that you were at Carlisle House. I waited there an hour or more, when one told me he had seen you here.”

“Is your business with me of such importance?”

“Yes.”

The Earl leant back in his chair and idly fingered the stem of his glass. His eyes were not idle, but excited and bright, though his attitude was slack and his chin rested on his tumbled cravat.

“I have to thank your lordship for the promotion I was gazetted with today, have I not?” said Sir Francis in a low voice.

“I used my influence on your behalf,” answered Rose Lyndwood. “I think you know it, Sir Francis.”

“I wished to be confirmed, sir. I could not flatter myself it was my own merits. I decline the place, my lord. I can be under no obligation to your lordship.”

“And your motive in this?” asked the Earl slowly. He roused himself with an indolent air and looked up at the other.

“What was your motive in doing me this favour?” demanded Sir Francis, his red-brown eyes darkening.

“I do not care to endeavour to understand you,” said Rose Lyndwood, frowning. “I do not know what you have against me, nor is it worth while to inquire.” He yawned and his lids drooped. “The time is inconvenient—and the place—for these discussions,” he added.

“I have not studied your convenience or my own in coming here,” answered Sir Francis haughtily. “I am not fond of taverns. But the matter I have in hand is imperative. Has your lordship seen the Gazette today?”

“It seems to have been an interesting sheet,” said the Earl languidly but with watchful eyes. “Ye are the second has asked me that. Well, what of it?”

Sir Francis threw back his mantle and drew from the pocket of it a copy of the paper.

“Will you read this?” he said. “Afterwards I shall have to ask your lordship two questions.”

Rose Lyndwood took the small, closely printed sheet and sat up, leaning heavily on the table, to read it. Sir Francis stood erect, his hand on his hip, observing him. There wa............