“Quite right,” said the Earl, opening his snuff-box. “I did understand.”
Sir Roland helped himself to a pinch and sniffed it up one nostril. “Very good blend. I always have my own put up by my man in the Haymarket. Always use the same, you know. Plain Spanish.”
“Ah, indeed?” said the Earl. “This is blended for me by Jacobs, in the Strand.”
Sir Roland perceived that he was being led into a discussion that had nothing whatsoever to do with his mission, and firmly abandoned it. “Reason I called,” he said, “was quite different. Hoping very much you will join a little card-party—my house—this evening.”
“Why, this is very kind of you,” said Rule, with the faintest inflexion of surprise in his pleasant voice.
This was not lost on Sir Roland, who, thrust out by the Viscount to “draw off” his lordship, had protested feebly: “Deuce take it, Pel, I hardly know the man! Years older than I am! Can’t ask him to my house like that!” He sought once more to loosen his cravat, and said: “Aware—devilish short notice—trust you’ll forgive—very difficult to find a fourth. Last moment, you understand. Game of whisk.”
“Nothing,” said the Earl, “would please me more than to be able to oblige you, my dear Pommeroy. Unfortunately, however—”
Sir Roland threw up his hand. “Now don’t say you cannot come! Pray do not! Can’t play whisk with only three people, my lord. Most awkward situation!”
“I am sure it must be,” agreed his lordship sympathetically. “And I expect you have tried everyone else.”
“Oh, everyone!” said Sir Roland. “Can’t find a fourth at all. Do beg of your lordship not to fail me!”