If Mr. Octavius Quirk were
for the moment installed as chief favorite, he had no wish to interfere
with him; there were plenty of other houses open, if one chose to go.
But the fact is, Lionel now spent many afternoons and nearly every
evening at the Garden Club; whist before dinner, poker after supper,
being the established rule. Moreover, a new element had been
introduced, as far as he was concerned. Mr. Percival Miles had been
elected a member of the club, and had forthwith presented himself in the
card-room, where he at once distinguished himself by his bold and
intrepid play. The curious thing was that, while openly professing a
kind of cold acquaintanceship, it was invariably against Lionel Moore
that he made his most determined stand; with the other players he might
play an ordinarily discreet and cautious game; but when Moore could be
challenged, this pale-faced young man never failed promptly to seize the
opportunity. And the worst of it was that he had extraordinary luck,
both in the run of the cards and in his manoeuvres.
"What is that young whipper-snapper up to?" Lionel said to himself,
after a particularly bad night (and morning) as he sat staring into the
dead ashes of his fireplace.
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