"How say you, gentlemen? I suppose we all play that vulgar but fascinating game?" said the Captain.
"I know a little of it," answered Bootle.
"I have only played it once," said Philip.
"If you have played once, it's as good as having played it a thousand times," said Camberley, dogmatically. "I'm not over-brilliant at cards myself, but I picked up Napoleon in ten minutes."
"Shilling points, I suppose?" said Lennox.
Camberley shrugged his shoulders, but said nothing, and they all sat down.
There was an arched recess in the room, fitted with an ottoman. It was Mrs. Ducie's favourite seat. Here she sat now, engaged on some piece of delicate embroidery, looking on, and smiling, and giving utterance to an occasional word or two between the deals, but not interrupting them.
Philip Cleeve, notwithstanding that he was less conversant with the game than his companions, and that the black eyes of Mrs. Ducie would persist in coming between him and his cards--he could see her from where he sat almost without a turn of his head--was very fortunate in the early part of the evening, carrying all before him. He found himself, at the end of an hour and a half's play, a winner of close on three sovereigns, which to a narrow pocket seems a considerable sum.
"This is too sleepy!" cried Camberley at last. "Can't we pile up the agony a bit, eh, Lennox?"
"I'm in your hands," said the Captain.