“Yes, I daresay he is,” replied Ravenscar, refilling her wineglass. “My cousin is very young and impressionable.”

“I am sure you, sir, are certainly not impressionable.”

“Not a bit,” he said cheerfully. “But I am perfectly ready to pay you any number of compliments, if that is what you wish.”

She bit her lip, saying, after a moment, with a suggestion of pique in her voice: “I don’t wish it at all.”

“In that cast,” said Ravenscar, “I feel that we shall deal extremely together. Do you play piquet?”

“Certainly.”

“Ah, but I mean do you play well enough to engage in a rubber with me?”

Miss Grantham eyed him with considerable hostility. “I am thought,” she said coldly, “to have a reasonably good understanding.”

“So have many others I could name, but that does not make them good card-players.”

Miss Grantham sat very straight in her chair. Her magnificent eyes flashed. “My skill at cards, Mr Ravenscar, has never yet been called in question!”

“But you have not played with me yet,” he pointed out.

“That is something that can be mended!” she retorted.

He lifted an eyebrow at her. “Are you sure you dare, Miss Grantham?”

She gave a scornful laugh. “Dare! I? I will meet you when you choose, Mr Ravenscar, the stakes to be fixed by yourself!”

“Then let it be tonight,” he said promptly.

“Let it be at once!” she said, rising from her chair. He too rose, and offered his arm. His countenance was perfectly grave, but she had the impression that he was secretly laughing at her.

On the staircase they met Lord Mablethorpe, on his way down to supper. His face fell when he saw Miss Grantham. He exclaimed: “You have not finished supper already! I made sure of finding you in the dining-room! Oh, do come back, Deb! Come and drink a glass of wine with me!”

“You are too late,” said Ravenscar. “Miss Grantham is promised to me for the next hour.”