Mr. Marchdale threw down his cards pettishly and swore, Lord Alvaston, sprawling in his chair, surveyed his slender legs with drowsy approval, the Marquis of Alton yawned and Mr. Dalroyd shuffled for a new deal; hard by the Captain and Sir Jasper diced sleepily and in the ingle Sir Benjamin snored outright.

"Sink me!" murmured Lord Alvaston, "sink me if I've touched an ace all the evening!"

"Aye, Dalroyd and Alton have all the luck!" exclaimed Mr. Marchdale with youthful petulance.

"Dem'd queer thing, but I feel dooced sleepy!" yawned the Marquis.

"'S'ffect o' country air," murmured Lord Alvaston, "look at Ben."

"Aye begad, will some one be good enough to stir him up, his dem'd snoring makes me worse----"

"Who's snoring?" demanded Sir Benjamin, sitting bolt upright, broad awake in a moment, and straightening his wig. "Od's body, I do protest I did but close my eyes for a moment----"

"And snored, Ben, d.a.m.nably--'ffect o' country air----"

"And churning, Ben--eh, Benjamin?" suggested Mr. Dalroyd. "You've taken up dairy-work, I understand."

Sir Benjamin reached for and filled his wine-gla.s.s and grew a little more rubicund than usual.

"Od so, sir," said he, "'When in Rome'--od's body! 'do as Rome does.'

And we are in the country and--ah--being here 'mid rural things simple and sweet I--hem! I say I----"

"Snore, Ben!" murmured Lord Alvaston, "and very natural too!"

"And churn, Ben!" nodded Mr. Dalroyd, his delicate nostrils quivering in his sleepy smile, "You churn till you sweat, churn till you blow like any grampus, I understand."

Sir Benjamin took a gulp of wine, choked, coughed, and grew purple.

"Eh? What? Ho!" exclaimed the Captain. "A churn? Ben? Split me!

Some pretty dairy-wench? Aha! Ben--confess!"

Pompous, dignified, Sir Benjamin rose and took a pinch of snuff with great deliberation and apparent satisfaction.

"Od, gentlemen," said he, lace handkerchief a-flutter, "since you'd have it, I'll freely--hem! freely confess it. But 'twas no rustic charmer, no village beauty, no dainty wench o' the dairy bewitched me--no, no! Od's my life, sirs, I've been beforehand wi' most of ye--body o' me--yes! For 'twas my joy and felicity to--ah--hem! to labour at the delightful art of--ah--b.u.t.termaking 'neath the bright and witching eyes of--our Admirable Betty!"

"O sly, Ben!" murmured Lord Alvaston, "O Ben--curst sly, sink me!"

"But--a churn!" said the Captain. "Begad! So fatiguing!"

"I churned, firstly, gentlemen, because 'twas so my lady's will and such is, and ever will be, my law, as the mighty Hercules span for the tender Omphale so did I churn for my lady. I churned, secondly, because the churn is a--hem! a romantic engine--I appeal to Alton!"

"So 'tis," mumbled his lordship, "demme if 'tisn't!"

"And I churned thirdly, because the labour entailed is admirable for the---hem! for tuning up the liver--I refer you to Marchdale."

"Nothing like it!" a.s.sented that youthful man of the world, "for liver, megrims or the pip give me a churn--and Betty along with it o' course."

"Ha," said Mr. Dalroyd, his smile growing a little malicious, "and then, having put your liver in tune with the churn you proceeded to put it out again by swallowing deep potations of--rhubarb wine of my lady's own decoction."

Sir Benjamin sat down, his plump features took on a careworn expression and he shuddered slightly.

"Rhubarb!" whispered Lord Alvaston, staring.

"Rhubarb!" muttered the Captain. "O Gad! Poor Ben!"

"Heroic Ben!" said Sir Jasper, his fine eyes more soulful than ever.

"Three gla.s.ses!" sighed Sir Benjamin. "Aye--three--she insisted! But, body o' me, sirs, what would you? Beauty is the--hem! the fount, the source, the mainspring of valour, is't not? As in olden days our ancestors were ready and eager to adventure life and limb for the bright eyes of their fair ladies, surely we, in like manner, should be equally willing to risk our---hem! our--I say to risk our----"

"Stomachs!" suggested Alvaston, "my own 'pinion precisely! Stomach's only stomach but th' heart's a n.o.ble organ--seat o' the 'flections and all that sort o' thing. Which reminds me, not a single ace have I held this game."

"But--split me! Why rhubarb?" demanded the Captain, "Why endeavour t'

poison poor Ben? O burn me!"

"'Twas a woman's notion," explained Sir Jasper, "a whim, a fancy. The whole s.e.x, dear creatures, be full of 'em, 'tis what makes 'em so infinite captivating----"

"Not," enquired the Captain, "not rhubarb----"

"No, no--'tis the mystery of 'em--the wonder of their changing moods that makes women so alluring and Bet the most bewitching of 'em all.

By Venus, she's elusive as a sunbeam, mysterious as fate, changeable as----"

"Begad," exclaimed the Marquis, "and that's the dem'd truth--that's Betty to a T and that's how I'm coming continual croppers--if she were only a little more like a horse or a dog I should know what to expect and how to treat her----"

"I suggest--precisely the same," smiled Mr. Dalroyd, "and horses one spurs and dogs one whips and my lady would be better for a little of both. Women should be managed, they expect it and they love the strong hand!"

Sir Benjamin gaped, the Captain stared, Sir Jasper rolled his eyes and Mr. Marchdale, furrowing youthful brow, spoke:

"As a man of the world I vow there's wisdom in't. The lovely creatures look for strength in a man--mastery, d'ye see, though a whip----"

"Od sir," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Sir Benjamin, "'tis rank heresy!"

"Pure savagery!" gasped Sir Jasper.

"Precisely my own 'pinion!" murmured Lord Alvaston. "For if a dog's a dog he's only a dam dog--'sequently whip him when needful. Same with a horse. But a woman being a woman ain't a dog nor a horse, therefore since she is a woman 'stead of whipping, worship----"

"Talking o' whips," said the Marquis, "I should devoutly and vastly desire to see some masterful a.s.s attempt to horsewhip Bet, 'twould be a sight for the G.o.ds--she has all her brother's fire and spirit with a cleverer head."

"None the less, Alton," retorted Mr. Dalroyd, "the man who wins her will be the man who masters her."

"No, no, Dalroyd," exclaimed Sir Jasper soulfully, "who shall master a G.o.ddess? Who but the humblest of her admirers shall hope to win the queen of women?"

"I'm with you there, Denholm!" said Lord Alvaston heartily, "and talking o' queens, not an ace have I touched this game--I'm done!"

"Same here!" growled Mr. Marchdale. "You've all the luck, Dalroyd. I owe you another fifty, I think?"

"Seventy-five!" murmured Mr. Dalroyd.

"Well, I'm for bed!" yawned his lordship.