"What?"—absently.
"What! Why, to travel about the country with the nucleus of a theatrical troupe on your hands—"
"She wanted another chance. Few get it."
"Very well, son, if you think you can afford to endow a home for the frivolously erring!—And the chances are she'll turn on you and scratch."
"Yes—the chances favour that."
"She won't understand it; that sort never understands decency in a man."
"Do you think it might damage my reputation to be misunderstood?" sneered Malcourt. "I've taken a notion to give her a chance and I'm going to do it."
Portlaw spread out his first row of cards. "You know what everybody will think, I suppose."
Malcourt yawned.
Presently Portlaw began in a babyish-irritated voice: "I've buried the deuce and trey of diamonds, and blocked myself—"