In the event of his losing the game of poker
I was to be even more concerned than he. Yet how could evil come to
me, even should the American do him in the eye rather frightfully? In
truth, I had not the faintest belief that the Honourable George would
win the game. He fancies himself a card-player, though why he should,
God knows. At bridge with him every hand is a no-trumper. I need not
say more. Also it occurred to me that the American would be a person
not accustomed to losing. There was that about him.
More than once I had deplored this rather Bohemian taste of the
Honourable George which led him to associate with Americans as readily
as with persons of his own class; and especially had I regretted his
intimacy with the family in question. Several times I had observed
them, on the occasion of bearing messages from the Honourable
George--usually his acceptance of an invitation to dine. Too obviously
they were rather a handful. I mean to say, they were people who could
perhaps matter in their own wilds, but they would never do with us.
Their leader, with whom the Honourable George had consented to game
this evening, was a tall, careless-spoken person, with a narrow, dark
face marked with heavy black brows that were rather tremendous in
their effect when he did not smile.
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