"Are you coming my way, Blair? I am going now."
"No, I think not," was the listless reply. "Going? Good-night."
The marquis and Colonel Floyd walked out of the club.
"I wonder what that fellow's game is," said the latter, "for, mark my words, Aldy, he has a game, all these sort of men have. Did you see his face when poor Blair lost?"
"No, I was watching the cards," said the marquis.
"Well, I wasn't. I was watching our palefaced friend, and if it was sorrow on his face, then I don't know joy when I see it. I don't know what his game is, and I can't even guess at it, but if he isn't winning it, then I'm a Dutchman."
Blair played on until the daylight came in faint streaks through the Venetian blinds of the card room, and the hour of closing arrived. Then he rose as listless and weary, as unmoved and calm as when he sat down.
"You have lost," said Austin Ambrose, who still stood beside him.
"Yes, I think so. Oh, yes, heavily."