“I’m not particularly keen on cards to-night,” he remarked, with a yawn. “I believe, if you had your own way, you’d play from morning to night.”
“Oh, hang it all, there’s nothing else to be done!” Cecil answered. “If we stay down here we can’t smoke, and we shall have old Grumps back bothering presently.”
“I forgot we couldn’t smoke,” de Cartienne said, rising. “Come along, then!”
“You don’t mind, Morton, do you?” Cecil asked, turning towards me. “It’s awfully cosy up in Len’s room.”
“Certainly not,” I answered, finishing my coffee. “I’ll come, but I can’t play.”
“Oh, that doesn’t matter! You can watch us for a bit, and you’ll soon pick it up. Hi, James!” Cecil sang out, as that worthy showed himself at the door for a minute, “bring us up some whisky and half a dozen bottles of seltzer water into Mr. de Cartienne’s room, will you? Look sharp, there’s a good fellow!”
de Cartienne’s rooms, especially his study, were furnished far more luxuriously than mine and in excellent taste. The walls and chimney-piece were covered with charming little sketches, a few foreign prints, photographs, and dainty little trifles of bric-a-brac. Except for the photographs, some of which were a little risque, it was more like a lady’s boudoir than a man’s sitting-room.
de Cartienne and Cecil seated themselves at a small round table and began to play almost immediately. I drew an easy chair up to the fire, and closed my eyes as though I intended going to sleep. As a matter of fact, I meant to watch the game, and closely, too. But Fate decided otherwise. I was really very sleepy, and, though I struggled against it, I was obliged to yield in the end. I fell asleep, and it must have been nearly two hours before I was awakened by a touch on my arm.
“Wake up, Morton, old chap! It’s time we were off to our rooms.”
I sat up and looked at my watch. It was past midnight.