He did not wish to hear.

Already he had repented.
He was not a man of keen susceptibility, but he was a trifle ashamed of himself.

At that moment he was tempted to draw the cork, and empty the brandy out upon the ground.
"Trent! Do you hear, Trent ?" He could no longer ignore the hoarse, plaintive cry.

He looked unwillingly up.

Monty was standing over him with white, twitching face and bloodshot eyes.
"Deal the cards," he muttered simply, and sat down.
Trent hesitated.