"Must spend your time somewhere," he jerked out forlornly.
"A necessity of life," Caylesham agreed; "and it doesn't make so much difference, after all, where you do it. I rather agree with the fellow who said that the only distinction he could see between—well, between one sort of house and the other sort—was that in the latter you could be more certain of finding whisky and soda on the sideboard in the morning; and now I'm hanged if that criterion isn't failing one! Whisky and soda's got so general."
The card-party at the other end of the room was animated and even a little noisy. Mrs. Bolton was prone to hearty laughter. Miss Henderson had a penetrating voice, and usually gave a little shriek of delight when she won. The two young men were rather excited. Caylesham regarded the whole scene with humorous contempt. Tom Courtland sat in moody silence, doing nothing. He had even smoked till he could smoke no more. He had not a pleasure left.
Presently Miss Pattie threw down her cards and came across to them. She was a tall ladylike-looking young woman; only the faintest trace of Cockney accent hung about the voice. She sat down by Caylesham in a friendly way.
"We hardly ever see you now," she told him. "Are you all right?"
"All right, but getting old, Pattie. I'm engaged in digging my own grave."
"Oh, nonsense, you're quite fit still. I say, have you heard about me?"
"Lots of things."
"No, don't be silly. I mean, that I'm going to be married?"
"No, are you, by Jove? Who's the happy man?"