"Blast the races!" he said.
"In heaven's name, what for? You're hard to please this morning."
"O'Hagan's benefit, that's what Riwala racing means, Carson. O'Hagan——"
"Oh, shut up, you've got O'Hagan on the brain. 'Pon my soul, Graeme, I can't understand this hatred for the fellow. I don't like him much, I own, nor I believe do the others really, but I don't hate him. Why are you so infernally immoderate in everything, why not take things quietly, as I do? You'd find life much easier. After all, he's not a bad-hearted fellow."
"He's a low, cowardly blackguard, not one redeeming point about him."
"There's no fellow like that, Graeme; anyway, he's an officer of the regiment, and all our talking won't alter that fact."
"You're right, Peter, talking won't."
"Well, what else can you do? Hullo, what the—— Good Lord!" for the door had been suddenly kicked open—O'Hagan never knocked save at a senior's door—and the subject of their discussion stood on the threshold.
"You here, Carson?" he said, his eyebrows lifted in seeming surprise at the latter's being in such company. "Come and play bridge."
"Not now, thank you, O'Hagan; as you see, I'm talking to Graeme."