“The dark is full of white faces,” he muttered. “They writhe with laughter and flash down and are gone. There! did you hear that?”
Blythewood glanced, with a shrug of his shoulders, at his host.
“Oh, Luvaine!” he cried—“damn your shuddering fancies! Come to the table, man, and take your glass like an honest soldier!”
The captain dropped the curtain and walked slowly back to his place.
“That I am,” he said, “and that I have been through all the buffets of Fate. But it’s trouble, David, that teaches a man to look inward; and there, does he concentrate his gaze, he acquires the gift of second sight.”
“And what does it advantage him to ride with a spectre on his pillion? I’ve a shorter and pleasanter way to see double.”
He lifted his glass with a jolly chuckle.
“Here’s to the memory of Mr. Cutwater, the greatest broker of his age, yet who got broke himself in the end!” he cried.
Luvaine declined to drink.
“Oh!” said Tuke, laughing. “Give him the nail-toast, sir. He hath kept the gem in trust for you all these years.”