The heavy lids lifted for a moment, and she saw the grey eyes keen. “You must needs have faith in your skill, Mr Merriot.”
“In my luck I have, Sir Anthony.”
“I felicitate you. I will play you for the half of Jollyot’s stakes.”
“As you please, sir. Will you cut?”
It would not do to show a change of front now that the large gentleman had watched her at play with Sir Francis. Prudence fumbled a little at the cards, and displayed a beginner’s uncertainty. Sir Anthony seemed to be engrossed with his own hand, but as she hesitated once more over the five cards of her discard he glanced up, and drawled: “Oh, spare yourself the pains, my dear boy! I am no hawk.”
Prudence fenced cautiously; she was not quite sure what the gentleman would be at. “The pains of what, sir?”
“Of all this dissimulation,” said Sir Anthony, with a disarming smile. “I must suppose you were taught to play picquet in your cradle.”
Almost she gasped. It seemed as though John had reason when he said that large gentleman was awake for all his sleepiness. She laughed, and forbore to evade, judging her man with some shrewdness. “Nearly, sir, I confess. My father has a fondness for the game.”
“Has he indeed?” said Sir Anthony. “Now, what may have induced you to play the novice with my friend Jollyot, I wonder?”
“I have been about the world a little, Sir Anthony.”