“Won't you have me?” cried Sewell, in his ordinary tone. “I'm a perfect boon at pool; for I am the most unlucky dog in everything.”
“I scarcely think you'll expect us to believe that,” said Cave, with a glance of unmistakable admiration towards Mrs. Sewell.
“Ay,” cried Sewell, fiercely, and answering the unspoken sentiment,—“ay, sir, and that,”—he laid a stern emphasis on the word,—“and that the worst luck of all.”
“I 've been asking Mrs. Sewell to play a game with us, and she says she has no objections,” said a young subaltern, “if Colonel Sewell does not dislike it.”
“I'll play whist, then,” said Sewell. “Who 'll make a rubber?—Cave, will you? Here's Houghton and Mowbray,—eh?”
“No, no,” said Mowbray,—“you are all too good for me.”
“How I hate that,—too good for me,” said Sewell. “Why, man, what better investment could you ask for your money than the benefit of good teaching? Always ride with the best hounds, play with the best players, talk with the best talkers.”
“And make love to the prettiest women,” added Cave, in a whisper, as Mowbray followed Mrs. Sewell into the billiard-room.
“I heard you, Cave,” whispered Sewell, in a still lower whisper; “there's devilish little escapes my ears, I promise you.” The bustle and preparation of the card-table served in part to cover Cave's confusion, but his cheek tingled and his hand shook with mingled shame and annoyance.
Sewell saw it all, and knew how to profit by it. He liked high play, to which Cave generally objected; but he well knew that on the present occasion Cave would concur in anything to cover his momentary sense of shame.