“If he does, I have a strong notion that it will rather be shamelessly!” Miss Grantham smiled.
“Indeed it will! There is not an ounce of chivalry in my cousin. I wish you will have nothing to do with him! Besides, it is so dull to be playing piquet all night! What is to become of me?”
“Why, if E.O. holds no charms for you, you may come presently and see how I am faring at your cousin’s hands.”
“I shall come to rescue you,” he promised.
She laughed, and passed on up the stairs to the gaming saloons. In the larger room, one or two small tables were set out; Miss Grantham led the way to one of these, and called to a waiter for cards. She looked speculatively at Ravenscar, as he seated himself opposite to her; his eyes met hers, and some gleam of mockery in them convinced her that he had been laughing at her. “You are the strangest man!” she said, in her frank way. “Why did you talk so to me?”
“To whet your curiosity,” he responded, with equal frankness.
“Good God, to what end, pray?”
“To make you play cards with me. You have so many noble admirers, ma’am, who pay you such assiduous court, that I could not suppose that a conciliating address would answer my purpose.”
“So you were rude to me, and rough! Upon my word, I do not know what you deserve, Mr Ravenscar!”
He turned to pick up the piquet-packs the waiter was offering him on a tray, and laid some card-money down in their place. “To be plucked, undoubtedly. What stakes do you like to play for, Miss Grantham?”