Hugh, reviling himself and the whole world, had been compelled to stand by and see Lieutenant Gilmore, a dashing Irishman, drag the unwilling Miss Ridge off for a waltz.

Her protestations had been of no avail; Gilmore was abominable enough to say that she had no right to stow herself away with a stupid old brother when there were so many "real nice chaps on board." And this in Hugh's presence, too! And he could not resent it! Alone and miserable the pariah sent his unspoken, bitter lamentation to the stars as he stood in savage loneliness far aft, listening to the strains of waltz music.
"'Pon my soul! Of all the assinine idiots, bar none, the enlightened inspirer of this glorious voyage certainly ranks supreme! And I didn't have brains enough to foresee that this would surely happen! Brains?
Faugh! Chump!" Hugh might have apostrophized himself in this fashion until dawn had not a harsh, rasping voice from out of the semi-darkness broken in on his doleful revery.
"Pardon me, sir, do you play cribbage ?" Hugh turned half about and faced the speaker.

He could hardly believe his ears, his eyes.

Was it possible that the haughty Lord Huntingford had fixed upon him as the next lamb to be fleeced?
Ugly stories concerning the government emissary's continuous winnings, disastrous losses of the young subalterns inveigled into gambling through fear of his official displeasure, were not unknown to Hugh.

A civil declination was on his lips; but keenly searching the shrivelled face leering into his own, Hugh saw written there something that compelled consideration, challenged a refusal.