'Hit him on the raw there, somehow!'
Meanwhile, Falconer looked curiously at him from time to time. Was it the growing regard for Mary Montgomerie that induced him, Cecil Falconer, to dissemble in his bearing towards this fellow, and affect to forget that, but for a chance next to a miracle, by his hands, on that day at the covers, he might now have been a mutilated, hideous, and blind creature—blighted in existence and profession for ever?
Yes, the influence of Mary alone could make him act the double part he felt himself to be acting now.
Hew was dealing, and while Falconer was stooping to pat Snarley, gave himself—as he had done before—eight cards instead of five, some of which he seemed to drop as if by a blunder, and in mistake only took up one, leaving the remainder on the carpet till the hand was played out, when he skilfully, but not unnoticed, contrived to replace them in the pack.
'When we are married,' said he, with a nervous chuckle, 'I'll have to drop all this sort of thing, I suppose.'
'Well, don't drop your cards as yet,' replied Falconer, coldly. 'Married—you, and who?'
'Mary and I; it's all arranged, don't you know? Oh, by Jove, here is luck!' he added, looking for a king, and of course getting one, while the score was growing heavy against his adversary, and was close on a hundred now.
'Hallo, Mr. Montgomerie!' exclaimed Falconer angrily, as Hew stooped to fish for a dropped card, 'what's the matter?'
'I have dropped a card, by Jove! and that d——d terrier has collared it. Here, Snarley, you brute!'
'You have dropped half-a-dozen, sir!' said Falconer sternly, as he rose from his chair with menace in his eyes.