The chance no sooner presented itself, however, than it was flung away, and was lost for ever.
Evening preparation was over, and supper, an informal meal, attendance at which was not compulsory, was in progress.

The door of Thurston's study was once more locked on the inside, as it had been when Diggory went to return the match-box to its rightful owner.
Fletcher senior, Hawley, and Gull sat on three sides of the small table, while Thurston himself occupied the fourth.
"Hang it all!" exclaimed the latter, throwing down a handful of playing cards upon the table, and pushing back his chair.

"I shan't play any more to-night; I've got no more tin." "Oh, go on; I'll lend you some," answered Fletcher.

"I don't care whether I win or lose; it's only the game I play for." As a matter of fact, Fletcher nearly always _did_ win, and was mightily displeased on the rare occasions when he lost.
"No; I've borrowed enough already," returned the other.

"I shan't be able to square up as it is till next term.