Lal shook his head.
“I’ll play without stakes, for once.”
“No. I never play.”
“I don’t see why not. Even father used to play whist in the evenings, he and mother and two of the canons, awfully decent old chaps; and I used to stand behind mother and give her tips. Father was no end of a good player. I don’t see why you won’t, Lal. It’s wonderful how it takes you out of yourself.”
Lal shook his head again. “I never have played and never shall.”
“Are you afraid?”
“Perhaps.”
Meryon looked at him earnestly. “You’re very queer, Lal,” he said. “I believe you’ve got heaps of things in you that no one ever suspects. I believe you’re a born gambler—I hope you won’t mind my saying so. But there’s no harm; you aren’t like me, you’d never give way to it.”
“If I once began I should never stop,” Lal took him up, swiftly. “You’re right; I’m not like you, Meryon. I haven’t your pluck. I had to give up motoring because I could not keep my head while I was driving. I’m as weak as water.”
“But you never do the things, you only want to and don’t let yourself. I call that being strong, not weak. That’s just what I like. You’re so excitable, you have to keep tight hold of yourself for fear you should go to the bad, and yet you never do anything you shouldn’t.”