The young Duke had not
the opportunity of thus acting. He lost fifteen hundred pounds, and at
half-past five he quitted the Baron's.
Hot, bilious, with a confounded twang in his mouth, and a cracking pain
in his head, he stood one moment and sniffed in the salt sea breeze.
The moon was unfortunately on the waters, and her cool, beneficent light
reminded him, with disgust, of the hot, burning glare of the Baron's
saloon. He thought of May Dacre, but clenched his fist, and drove her
image from his mind.
CHAPTER VII.
_Dangerous Friends_
HE ROSE late, and as he was lounging over his breakfast, entered Lord
Bagshot and the Baron. Already the young Duke began to experience one
of the gamester's curses, the intrusive society of those of whom you
are ashamed. Eight-and-forty hours ago, Lord Bagshot would no more have
dared to call on the Duke of St. James than to call at the Pavilion; and
now, with that reckless want of tact which marks the innately vulgar,
he seemed to triumph in their unhallowed intimacy, and lounging into
his Grace's apartment with that half-shuffling, hair-swaggering air
indicative of the 'cove,' hat cocked, and thumbs in his great-coat
pockets, cast his complacent eye around, and praised his Grace's
'rooms.
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