“Perfectly serious. I am decidedly weary of seven o'clock dinners and morning calls. But here we are.”
As he spoke, they drove into the barrack-yard, where groups of lounging officers, in every variety of undress, were seen in all the insipid enjoyment of that cigar-smoking existence which forms the first article in our military code of education.
The gallant —th Light Dragoons were a “fast regiment,” and the inventors of that new locomotive on the road to ruin called a “mess breakfast,”—a meal where champagne flows with a profusion rarely seen at dinner, and by which men begin the day in a frame of mind that would not be very decorous even when concluding it. Cashel, being an honored guest, drank wine with every one, not to speak of participating in various little bibatory trios and quartets, so that when the entertainment drew to a close he was very far from that self-possession and command which, with all his high spirits, seldom deserted him.
A tremendous fall of rain, that showed no prospect of ceasing, had just set in, so that the party agreed to repair to the major's rooms, and make a pool at écarté. After some talking about play in general, and some quizzing about not being able to bet a sum such as Cashel would care to play for, the game began.
Notwithstanding the apologies, the play was high, so much so, that Cashel, never a very shrewd observer, could not help remarking that several of the players could not conceal the anxiety the game inspired.
Roland himself joined less from inclination than fellowship, and far better pleased to be at liberty to chat with some of the others than to be seated at the table, he arose each time he lost, well content to pay for freedom by his gold. His natural indifference, added to a perfect carelessness about money, induced him to accept any bet that was offered, and these were freely proposed, since, in play parlance, “the run was against him;” so that, ere the trumpet-call announced the time to dress for the mess, he had lost heavily.
“You have no idea how much you have lost?” said Linton, in a low voice, and with a gravity of manner almost reproachful.
“Not the slightest,” said Cashel, laughing.
“I can tell you, then, for I have totted it up. This morning's work has cost you seven thousand some hundred pounds.”
“Indeed!” said Cashel, a flush rather of shame than displeasure mantling on his features. “I'll give it up in future.”