"Have a drop of port, man!" he cried. "Twill give you courage to cut."
He lifted and drained his own glass, and setting it back upon the table, refilled it.
But Milbanke remained immovable. His thin hands were still clasped, his pale face looked anxious.
"Go on, James! You're not afraid of a drop of wine?" Again Asshlin laughed, but this time there was an unpleasant ring audible in his voice.
Mechanically Milbanke lifted his glass to his lips.
"No," he said with embarrassed deprecation, "no, I'm more afraid of your displeasure. I—I'm exceedingly sorry to disappoint you."
But once more his host laughed.
"Nonsense, man! I know your little scruples and your little conscience, and I'm not scared of either. Never meet the devil half way! He covers the ground too quickly as it is." He caught up the cards again, and forming them into a pack, held them out. "Cut!" he said laconically.
Milbanke drew back, and his lips came together, in a thin line.
"Come on! Cut!"