“Not to give me my revenge?” said Sewell, laughing.
“No, not for anything. I don't know what I 'd have done—I don't know what would have become of me—if I had lost; and I pledge you my honor, I think the next worst thing is to have won.”
“Do you, by George!”
“I do, upon my sacred word of honor. My first thoughts on waking this morning were more wretched than they have been for any day in the last twenty years of life, for I was thoroughly ashamed of myself.”
“You 'll not find many men afflicted with your malady, Cave; and, at all events, it's not contagious.”
“I know nothing about that,” said Cave, half irritably; “I never was a play man, and have little pretension to understand their feelings.”
“They have n't got any,” said Sewell, as he lit his cigar.
“Perhaps not; so much the worse for them. I can only say, if the misery of losing be only proportionate to the shame of winning, I don't envy a gambler. Such an example, too, to exhibit to my young officers! It was too bad—too bad.”
“I declare I don't understand this,” said Sewell, carelessly; “when I commanded a battalion, I never imagined I was obliged to be a model to the subs or the junior captains.” The tone of banter went, this time, to the quick; and Cave flushed a deep crimson, and said,—“I'm not sorry that my ideas of my duty are different; though, in the present case, I have failed to fulfil it.”
“Well, well, there's nothing to grow angry about,” said Sewell, laughing, “even though you won't give me my revenge. My present business is to book up;” and, as he spoke, he sat down at the table, and drew a roll of papers from his pocket and laid it before him.