"I shall be too glad, Uncle Henry," answered Guy (he did not look
particularly charmed though), "if it will give you or Bella any
pleasure. Need he be written to immediately?"

"Thank you very much," said Raymond, languidly. "I know he bores you,
and I am sure I don't wonder at it; but one must be civil to one's
son-in-law that is to be. No, you need not trouble yourself to invite
him yet. Bella can do it when she writes. I suppose she _does_ write to
him sometimes."

I looked across the table at Forrester. This was the first time I had
heard of Miss Raymond's engagement. He met my eye quite unconcernedly,
pursuing with great interest his occupation of peeling walnuts and
dropping them into Sherry. It did not often happen to him to blush
_twice_ in the twenty-four hours. Directly afterward we began to talk
about pheasants and other things.

After coffee in the drawing-room Guy sat down to piquet with his uncle.
Raymond liked to utilize his evenings, and never played for nominal
stakes. He was the _beau ideal_ of a card-player, certainly; no
revolution or persistence of luck could ruffle the dead calm of his
courteous face. He would win the money of his nearest and dearest
friend, or lose his own to an utter stranger with the same placidity. To
be sure, to a certain extent, he had enslaved Fortune; though he always
played most loyally, and sometimes would forego an advantage he might
fairly have claimed, his rare science made ultimate success scarcely
doubtful. He never touched a game of mere chance.

I heard a good story of him in Paris. They were playing a game like