Cave made no reply, and seemed not to know how to answer.
“Of course, if you object,” said Sewell, pushing back his chair from the table, as though about to rise, “there's no more to be said.”
“What do you say, Houghton?” asked Cave.
“Houghton has nothing to say to it; he hasn't won twenty pounds from me,” said Sewell, fiercely.
“Whatever you like, then,” said Cave, in a tone in which it was easy to see irritation was with difficulty kept under, and the game began.
The game began in deep silence. The restrained temper of the players and the heavy sum together impressed them, and not a word was dropped. The cards fell upon the table with a clear, sharp sound, and the clink of the counters resounded through the room, the only noises there.
As they played, the company from the billiard-room poured in and drew around the whist-table, at first noisily enough; but seeing the deep preoccupation of the players, their steadfast looks, their intense eagerness, made more striking by their silence, they gradually lowered their voices, and at last only spoke in whispers and rarely.
The first game of the rubber had been contested trick by trick, but ended by Cave winning it. The second game was won by Sewell, and the third opened with his deal.
As he dealt the cards, a murmur ran through the bystanders that the stake was something considerable, and the interest increased in consequence. A few trifling bets were laid on the issue, and one of the group, in a voice slightly raised above the rest, said, “I'll back Sewell for a pony.”
“I beg you will not, sir,” said Sewell, turning fiercely round. “I'm in bad luck already, and I don't want to be swamped altogether. There, sir, your interference has made me misdeal,” cried he, passionately, as he flung the cards on the table.