My luck is dead out--at patience, anyhow." "Mine," Cecil remarked, with a hard little laugh, "seems to be out all round.

Touch the bell, will you, Forrest.

I must have a brandy and soda before I start this beastly game again." The Princess raised her eyebrows.
"I trust," she said, "that my charming ward has not been unkind ?" "Your charming ward," Cecil answered, "has as many whims and fancies as an elf.

She yawns when I talk to her, and looks longingly after one of my villagers.

Hang the fellow!" "A very superior villager," the Princess remarked, "if you mean Mr.
Andrew." Forrest looked up, and fixed his cold intent eyes upon his host.
"I suppose," he said, "you are sure that this man Andrew is really what he professes to be, and not a masquerader ?" "I have known him," Cecil answered, "since I was old enough to remember anybody.