Even to him it seemed to be expedient to get up and at once to go.  What delight would there be to him in playing piquet with such a face opposite to him as that of Captain Vignolles, or with such a one as that of old Moody?  There could be none of the brilliance of the room, no pleasant hum of the voices of companions, no sense of his own equality with others.  There would be none to sympathize with him when he cursed his ill-luck, there would be no chance of contending with an innocent who would be as reckless as was he himself.  He looked round.  The room was gloomy and uncomfortable.  Captain Vignolles watched him, and was afraid that his prey was about to escape.  “Won’t you light a cigar?” Mountjoy took the cigar, and then felt that he could not go quite at once.  “I suppose you went to Monaco?”

“I was there for a short time.”

“Monaco isn’t bad,—­though there is, of course, the pull which the tables have against you.  But it’s a grand thing to think that skill can be of no avail.  I often think that I ought to play nothing but rouge et noir.”

“You?”

“Yes; I. I don’t deny that I’m the luckiest fellow going; but I never can remember cards.  Of course I know my trade.  Every fellow knows his trade, and I’m up pretty nearly in all that the books tell you.”

“That’s a great deal.”

“Not when you come to play with men who know what play is.  Look at Grossengrannel.  I’d sooner bet on him than any man in London.  Grossengrannel never forgets a card.  I’ll bet a hundred pounds that he knows the best card in every suit throughout the entire day’s play.  That’s his secret.  He gives his mind to it,—­which I can’t.  Hang it!  I’m always thinking of something quite different,—­of what I’m going to eat, or that sort of thing.  Grossengrannel is always looking at the cards, and he wins the odd rubber out of every eleven by his attention.  Shall we have a game of piquet?”

Now on the moment, in spite of all that he had felt during the entire day, in the teeth of all his longings, in opposition to all his thirst, Mountjoy for a minute or two did think that he could rise and go.  His father was about to put him on his legs again,—­if only he would abstain.  But Vignolles had the card-table open, with clean packs, and chairs at the corners, before he could decide.  “What is it to be?  Twos on the game I suppose.”  But Mountjoy would not play piquet.  He named ecarte, and asked that it might be only ten shillings a game.  It was many months now since he had played a game of ecarte.  “Oh, hang it!” said Vignolles, still holding the pack in his hands.  When thus appealed to Mountjoy relented, and agreed that a pound should be staked on each game.  When they had played seven games Vignolles had won but one pound, and expressed an opinion that that kind of thing wouldn’t suit them at all.  “School-girls would do better,” he said.  Then Mountjoy pushed back his chair as though to go, when the door opened and Major Moody entered the room.  “Now we’ll have a rubber at dummy,” said Captain Vignolles.