“Or me, my lord.”
“I never gamble in the family,” explained Vidal.
Mr. Comyn jumped. “Sir?”
“Well, sir?”
Mr. Comyn carefully laid down the pack. “Do I understand you to mean that you favour my suit, my lord?”
“Devilish precise, ain’t you?” commented Vidal. “I suppose if Juliana wants you she’ll have you. Get it out of your head that I have anything to do with it. It don’t concern me.”
Mr. Comyn leaned back in his chair. “I apprehend, my lord, that to play piquet with me was not your object in singling me out to-night.”
“Oh, I’ll play,” said his lordship. “But I don’t fleece my relatives, and I don’t care to be fleeced by ’em. Call it ten shillings a hundred.”
“Certainly — if that satisfies you,” said Mr. Comyn.
The Marquis’s eye twinkled. “Oh, I’m quite sober to-night.”