. . . What is the game?"
He was vaguely distrustful of cards, for he had oft heard this pastime condemned as ungodly by those with whom he had held converse in his early youth, nevertheless it did not occur to him that there might be anything wrong in a game which was countenanced by Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse, whom he knew to be an avowed Puritan, and by the saintly lady who had been the friend of ex-Queen Henrietta Maria.
"'Tis a simple round game," said Sir Marmaduke lightly, "you would soon learn."
"And . . ." said Lambert diffidently questioning, and eying the gold and silver which lay in profusion on the table, "there is no money at stake . . . of course? . . ."
"Oh! only a little," rejoined Mistress Endicott, "a paltry trifle . . . to add zest to the enjoyment of the game."
"However little it may be, Sir Marmaduke," said Lambert firmly, speaking directly to his employer, "I humbly pray you to excuse me before these gentlemen . . ."
The three players at the table, as well as the two Endicotts, had listened to this colloquy with varying feelings. Segrave was burning with impatience, Lord Walterton was getting more and more fractious, whilst Sir Michael Isherwood viewed the young secretary with marked hauteur. At the last words spoken by Lambert there came from all these gentlemen sundry ejaculations, expressive of contempt or annoyance, which caused an ugly frown to appear between de Chavasse's eyes, and a deep blush to rise in the young man's pale cheek.
"What do you mean?" queried Sir Marmaduke harshly.
"There are other gentlemen here," said Lambert, speaking with more firmness and decision now that he encountered inimical glances and felt as if somehow he was on his trial before all these people, "and I am not rich enough to afford the luxury of gambling."
"Nay! if that is your difficulty," rejoined Sir Marmaduke, "I pray you, good master, to command my purse . . . you are under my wing to-night . . . and I will gladly bear the burden of your losses."
"I thank you, Sir Marmaduke," said the young man, with quiet dignity," and I entreat you once again to excuse me. . . . I have never staked at cards, either mine own money or that of others. I would prefer not to begin."
"Meseems . . . hic . . . de Chavasse, that this . . . this young friend of yours is a hic . . . damned Puritan . . ." came in ever thickening accents from Lord Walterton.
"I hope, Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse," here interposed Endicott with much pompous dignity, "that your . . . hem . . . your young friend doth not desire to bring insinuations doubts, mayhap, against the honor of my house . . . or of my friends!"
"Nay! nay! good Endicott," said Sir Marmaduke, speaking in tones that were so conciliatory, so unlike his own quarrelsome temper, quick at taking offense, that Richard Lambert could not help wondering what was causing this change, "Master Lambert hath no such intention — 'pon my honor . . . He is young . . . and . . . and he misunderstands. . . . You see, my good Lambert," he added, once more turning to the young man, and still speaking with unwonted kindness and patience, "you are covering yourself with ridicule and placing me — who am your protector to-night — in a very awkward position. Had I known you were such a gaby I should have left you to go to bed alone."
"Nay! Sir Marmaduke," here came in decisive accents from portly Mistress Endicott, "methinks 'tis you who misunderstand Master Lambert. He is of a surety an honorable gentleman, and hath no desire to insult me, who have ne'er done him wrong, nor yet my friends by refusing a friendly game of cards in my house!"
She spoke very pointedly, causing her speech to seem like a menace, even though the words betokened gentleness and friendship.
Lambert's scruples and his desire to please struggled hopelessly in his mind. Mistress Endicott's eye held him silent even while it urged him to speak. What could he say? Sir Marmaduke, toward whom he felt gratitude and respect, surely would not urge what he thought would be wrong for Lambert.
And if a chaste and pure woman did not disapprove of a game of primero among friends, what right had he to set up his own standard of right or wrong against hers? What right had he to condemn what she approved? To offend his generous employer, and to bring opprobrium and ridicule on himself which would of necessity redound against Sir Marmaduke also?
Vague instinct still entered a feeble protest, but reason and common sense and a certain undetermined feeling of what was due to himself socially — poor country bumpkin! — fought a hard battle too.
"I am right, am I not, good Master Lambert?" came in dulcet tones from the virtuous hostess, "that you would not really refuse a quiet game of cards with my friends, at my entreaty . . . in my house?"
And Lambert, with a self-deprecatory sigh, and a shrug of the shoulders, said quietly:
"I have no option, gracious mistress!"
CHAPTER XVIII
THE TRAP
Richard Lambert fortunately for his own peace of mind and the retention of his dignity, was able to wave aside the hand full of gold and silver coins which Sir Marmaduke extended towards him.
"I thank you, sir," he said calmly; "I am able to bear the cost of mine own unavoidable weakness. I have money of mine own."
From out his doublet he took a tiny leather wallet containing a few gold coins, his worldly all bequeathed to him the same as to his brother — so the old friend who had brought the lads up had oft explained — by his grandmother. The little satchel never left his person from the moment that the old Quakeress had placed it in his hands. There were but five guineas in all, to which he had added from time to time the few shillings which Sir Marmaduke paid him as salary.
He chided his own weakness inwardly, when he felt the hot tears surging to his eyes at thought of the unworthy use to which his little hoard was about to be put.
But he walked to the table with a bold step; there was nothing now of the country lout about him; on the contrary, he moved with remarkable dignity, and bore himself so well that many a pair of feminine eyes watched him kindly, as he took his seat at the baize-covered table.
"Will one of you gentlemen teach me the game?" he asked simply.
It was remarkable that no one sneered at him again, and in these days of arrogance peculiar to the upper classes this was all the more noticeable, as these secret clubs were thought to be very exclusive, the resort pre-eminently of gentlemen and noblemen who were anti-Puritan, anti-Republican, and very jealous of their ranks and privileges.
Yet when after those few unpleasant moments of hesitation Lambert boldly accepted the situation and with much simple dignity took his seat at the table, everyone immediately accepted him as an equal, nor did anyone question his right to sit there on terms of equality with Lord Walterton or Sir Michael Isherwood.
His own state of mind was very remarkable at the moment.
Of course he disapproved of what he did: he would not have been the Puritanically trained, country-bred lad that he was, if he had accepted with an easy conscience the idea of tossing about money from hand to hand, money that he could in no sense afford to lose, or money that no one was making any honest effort to win.
He knew — somewhat vaguely perhaps, yet with some degree of certainty — that gambling was an illicit pastime, and that therefore he — by sitting at this table with these gentlemen, was deliberately contravening the laws of his country.
Against all that, it is necessary to note that Richard Lambert took two matters very much in earnest: first, his position as a paid dependent; second, his gratitude to Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse.
And both these all-pervading facts combined to force him against his will into this anomalous position of gentlemanly gambler, which suited neither his temperament nor his principles.
With it all Lambert's was one of those dispositions, often peculiar to those who have led an