y one who passed talking of the all-absorbing game. They were
obsessed by it, and threw questions to each other, which elsewhere would
have meant nothing, or some very different thing; but here no
explanations were needed. "Doing any good?" asked a pallid young man
with a twitching face, like that of a galvanized corpse, as he met a
weary-eyed woman in mourning, whose bare hands glittered with rings.
"No," she answered peevishly. "You never saw such tables--all running to
intermittences. Nobody can do anything, except the old man who lives on
two-one." Then the pair began speaking of Miss Grant, for her name was
common property. She was one of the celebrities of the season.

Vanno went on, pausing at each table in the immense Empire room, whose
pale green walls glittered with Buonaparte's golden bees; and everywhere
he heard the same questions: "How are you doing? Tables treating you
well?" Or, "Have you seen Miss Grant? She's simply throwing away money
to-night. I'm afraid her luck's out."

There was something ominous and fatal in these words, repeated again and
again, with variations. "Poor Miss Grant! Her luck is out." All these
gamblers discussing her affairs, commenting, criticising, bewailing the
end of her long run of luck. The idea came to Vanno that it was like a
chanting chorus in a Greek tragedy; but he thrust the thought out of his
mind with violence. He could not bear to associate Mary with tragedy.
She was not made for a life and a place like this, where pain and
passion and heartburning lie in sharp contrast of shadow side by side
with sunshine and flowers. Vanno would have liked to spirit her away out
of this garden of painted lilies, to a sweet, old-fashioned garden where
pure white Madonna lilies lined the quiet paths. If only she had
listened to him last night, how different might have been her Christmas
day and his!

Presently he saw Dick Carleton, standing on the outer edge of a crowd
which had collected round one of the tables farthest from the entrance.
He was peering over people's heads, frowning, his hands deep in his
pockets. Then Vanno knew that he need look no farther for Mary.

He was taller than Dick, and almost pushing his way to a place, he saw
Mary seated at the opposite side of the table. She sat at the left of a
croupier, who was helping her to place her numerous stakes. Beside her
was Lady Dauntrey, and behind her chair, tall and pale and very haggard,
Lord Dauntrey stood. Vanno gu