“You have been in the Balkans? I have never been there. Strange, is it not, when one considers that my husband is prince of a Balkan country. But he himself has not been there for a long time—through no fault of his,” she added with a smile.
“It appears he will be going back before long,” remarked the countess.
She had nodded to the maid, who served the hors d’œuvres, taking the dishes from a table near the outer door, where the waiters left them—a discreet arrangement, to which she was apparently well accustomed.
“Yes, I have heard that Baron Lappo has another plot in hand,” said Madame Ghita negligently, and glanced at the maid.
“Ah, you can trust Anita,” said the countess quickly, noticing the glance. “For one thing, she is very deaf.”
Madame Ghita laughed.
“Deafness is very convenient sometimes, is it not? And I can see she is discreet. An old family servant, perhaps?”
“She has been with me for a long time,” said the countess. “She has but one fault—a weakness for gambling. In Paris, she wastes her last sou on the races; here the tables take everything.”
“It is a terrible vice,” agreed Madame Ghita. “Have you been having good luck, M. Selden?”
“Really, madame,” said Selden, “I have never played seriously—I lack the gambler’s instinct. When I am winning, I never dare to push my good luck far enough, and when I am losing, I always stop just too soon. I always hear my number come as I leave the table! To my mind, the only way to play is to sit down certain of winning—resolved to win, or to lose one’s last franc in the effort. But I have not the temperament—I am too cautious.”