“At piquet—for a certain stake,” Lethbridge said.
“W-well, of course. I d-don’t mind playing high, you know.”
“We are not going to play for guineas, my dear,” Lethbridge told her, finishing the champagne in his glass.
She frowned. “R-Rule does not like me to stake my jewels,” she said.
“Heaven forbid! We will play higher than that.”
“G-good gracious!” exclaimed Horatia. “For what then?”
“For a lock—one precious lock—of your hair, Horry,” said Lethbridge.
She drew back instinctively. “That is silly,” she said. “Besides—I c-couldn’t.”
“I thought not,” he said. “Forgive me, my dear, but you see you are not really a gamester.”
She reddened. “I am!” she declared. “I am! Only I c-can’t play you for a lock of hair! It’s stupid, and I ought not. B-besides what would you stake against it?”