His Grace of Winterset's features were set awry to a sinister pattern. He sat glaring at his companion in a snarling silence.
"Money? Pouf!" snapped the little gambler. "No, no, no! It is that M. le Duc, impoverish', somewhat in a bad odor as he is, yet command the entree any-where - onless I - Ha, ha! Eh, monsieur?"
"Ha! You dare think to force me - "
M. Beaucaire twirled the tip of his slender mustache around the end of his white forefinger. Then he said: "Monsieur and me goin' to Lady Malbourne's ball to-night - M. le Duc and me!"
The Englishman roared, "Curse your impudence!"
"Sit quiet. Oh, yes, that's all; we goin' together."
"Certain. I make all my little plan'. 'Tis all arrange'." He paused, and then said gravely, "You goin' present me to Lady Mary Carlisle."
The other laughed in