“We’ll see about that,” Cecil answered doggedly. “Let’s ring for some cards.”
“Or, rather, don’t let’s play here at all,” interrupted de Cartienne. “The people are awfully old-fashioned and particular and may want to turn as out at eleven o’clock.”
“By George! we’ll go round to the ‘Rose and Crown!’” exclaimed Cecil. “I haven’t been there for two days. It’s a decent little place and we can do what we like there,” he added, turning to Mr. Fothergill. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Not the least in the world!” declared our host, rising and stretching himself. “Any place will do for me. The sooner the better, if we are going, though. I don’t want to be particularly late.”
We all rose, despatched the waiter for our overcoats and sallied out into the cool night air. After the heated atmosphere of the room in which we had been dining, the wintry breeze came as a sudden swift tonic. At the corner of the street, looking seaward, Cecil and I stopped simultaneously and bared our heads.
“By George! how delicious a walk would be!” he exclaimed, fanning himself with his cap. “I say, Phil, old chap, suppose we bolt and do the seashore as far as Litton Bay?”
“A splendid idea!” I exclaimed, taking him at his word and linking his arm in mine. “Let’s do it!”
He burst out laughing.
“Why, Phil, you know we can’t!” he said. “I was only joking. Why, what on earth would Fothergill think of us serving him such a trick as that?”
“Oh, hang Fothergill!” I cried. “He only wants to win your money. I wouldn’t play with the fellow if I were you, Cecil. Can’t you see he’s a cad?”