The man who had spoken was a young roué, little more than Roger’s own age, and reputed to be a great man in the circles of the fast.
“Excuse me,” said Roger, abruptly interrupting the laugh that followed this hero’s jest, “do you call yourself a gentleman?”
A bombshell on the floor could hardly have made a greater sensation.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, sir, that you’re not a gentleman.”
The young gentleman staggered back as if he had been shot, and gaped round the audience, speechless.
“Hullo, hullo,” said some one, “this is getting lively.”
Another of the party walked to the door and turned the key, and several others hastily finished up the contents of their glasses.
Roger needed all his nerve to keep cool under the circumstances, but he succeeded.
All eyes were turned to the young gentleman, whose move it clearly was next.