"The hell you do!" ejaculated Langham.
The gambler's brow darkened.
"What do you mean by that?" he demanded angrily.
"Nothing, I was only thinking of Mrs. Langham's probable attitude in the matter, that was all."
"You mean you think she won't want to meet me?" and in spite of himself Gilmore's voice sounded strained and unnatural.
"I'm sure she won't," said Langham with cruel candor.
"Well," observed Gilmore coolly, "I'm going to put my case in your hands, Marsh; you come to my rooms, you drink my whisky, and smoke my cigars and borrow my money; now I'm going to make a new deal with you. I'm going to know your wife. I like her style—she and I'll get on fine together, once we know each other. You make it plain to her that I'm your friend, your best friend, about your only friend!"
"You fool—" began Langham.
Gilmore quitted his chair at a bound and strode to Langham's side.
"None of that, Marsh!" he protested sternly, placing a heavy hand on Langham's shoulder. "I see we got to understand each other, you and me! You don't take hints; I have to bang it into you with a club or you don't see what I'm driving at—"