"No, I am not mocking you. I should like you to win—once: I say it, and am perfectly honest about it. You would be beaten in the end, but it would please me while it lasted. Has your friend no money?"
"No, this was all we had between us."
"So he came back and got you to play with your money. That was strange friendship."
"You are wrong," I answered, "he was set against coming; but I persuaded him—or rather, I insisted. It is all my own fault."
"Well," she said, musingly, "I suppose you must, go; but it is a pity. You are too handsome a boy to—to do what you will probably do: but the game does not regard good looks, or it would fare badly with me. Good-bye."
Still there was no shadow of pity in those unfathomable eyes. I looked into them for a moment, but their shining jet revealed nothing below the surface—nothing but inexorable calm.
"Good-bye," I said, and rose to go, for Tom's hand was already on my shoulder. I dared not look in his face. All hope was gone now, all wealth, all—Stay! I put my fingers in my waistcoat-pocket and drew out the Golden Clasp. Worthless to me as any sign of the hiding-place of the Great Ruby, it might yet be worth something as metal. I had carried it ever since the day when Uncle Loveday and I read my father's Journal. But what did it matter now? In a few hours I should be beyond the hope of treasure. Might I not just as well fling this accursed clasp after the rest? For aught I knew it might yet win something back to me—that is, if anyone would accept it as money. At least I would try.
I sank back into my chair again. The woman turned her eyes upon me carelessly, and said—
"What, back again so soon?"
"Yes," said I, somewhat taken aback by her coldness, "if you will give me another chance."