“Come,” he said at length. “It can't be helped. And—I don't know what you feel about it, but I have an objection to letting Wirion see that he can make us unhappy.”
Roy came back slowly.
“That—brute!” he burst out, choking over the word.
“Yes—I know. There's no sort of excuse for him. Roy, I want a promise from you.”
“What?”
“You know the sort of thing that is going on here. Promise me faithfully that, whatever happens, you will keep clear of the gaming-tables. You may be tempted, and I shall not be at hand to look after you.”
Roy was silent—perhaps because of those last words.
“Promise. I can depend upon your word.”
“I do—promise,” Roy said with difficulty.
“Faithfully?”