“I must; there's no help for it,” said Martin, impatiently, while he whispered something eagerly in the other's ear.
“Well, then, some other day; another time—”
“Here and now, Claude,” said Martin, peremptorily; while, without waiting for reply, he said aloud, “Merl, I wish to present you to Lord Claude Willoughby,—Lord Claude, Mr. Herman Merl.”
Merl bowed and smirked and writhed as his Lordship, with a bland smile and a very slight bow, acknowledged the presentation.
“Had the pleasure of meeting your Lordship at Baden two summers ago,” said the Jew, with an air meant to be the ideal of fashionable ease.
“I was at Baden at the time you mention,” said he, coldly.
“I used to watch your Lordship's game with great attention; you won heavily, I think?”
“I don't remember, just now,” said he, carelessly; not, indeed, that such was the fact, or that he desired it should be thought so; he only wished to mark his sense of what he deemed an impertinence.
“The man who can win at rouge-et-noir can do anything, in my opinion,” said Merl.
“What odds are you taking on Rufus?” said Martin to Willoughby, and without paying the slightest attention to Merl's remark.