"Except hers," said Lancaster quietly, although his dark face was flushed with anger.
Philip Trevanna laughed insolently at the remark and taking up a few cards, lightly balanced them in his hand.
"A nice one you are, to preach morality," he said scoffingly, "you're about as bad a lot as there is in Town."
"You're not much better, at all events," observed Adrian wrathfully. "Look here, Trevanna, shut up—I'm not in the best of tempers, and you know I've got hot blood in my veins, so when I get angry it's dangerous. Don't rouse the tiger in me."
"Don't talk bosh," said Trevanna politely, "you know you only want to marry Olive Maunders for her money."
"Speak for yourself," cried Lancaster, going over to a side table and taking up a decanter to pour himself out some brandy. "I know you'd give anything to be in my place."
"Tell you what," said Trevanna, with an ugly look. "I'll play you for her—if I win, I marry her."
"Hold your tongue," retorted Adrian, grasping the stem of the decanter in a paroxysm of rage.
"I'll back this thousand against Olive Maunders," observed Trevanna, ignoring the menacing look of his friend. "Will you play?"
"No."