Varley nodded.
“I’ll sit down and take a hand,” said Taffy.
“No, you won’t,” remarked Varley, examining his cards with a quick sweep of his eye, which took in their value in an instant.
“I won’t?” said Taffy. “Oh, won’t I! Why not?”
“Because you couldn’t sit down if you tried, you old soaker; and if you did, you couldn’t see the cards. Go and get another drink and waltz off to bed; your nurse is waiting to undress you, my child.”
Taffy subsided, as he always did, with a tipsy grin.
“That di’mond o’ Esmeralda’s is a-firing away to-night fine, Varley,” he said, changing the subject discreetly. “Reminds me of them eyes of hers. Blame me if they usedn’t to shine jes’ like that when she was in one of her tantrums.”
Varley gave the slightest of nods, and Taffy leaned against a chair and sighed with maudlin tenderness.
“Ain’t—ain’t heard from her lately, I s’pose, Varley?”
“Not lately,” said Varley. “Get out of the light.”