"I'll just stay and watch the play for a bit," he said. "It's only three o'clock." He took a banana from the sideboard and sat down behind the player who held the bank.
"No, no, come away," Dorothy begged him. "What is the good of tormenting yourself by watching other people play when you can't play yourself?"
"Damn it, Dorothy," he exclaimed, turning round angrily. "I wish to God I'd never brought you here. You always interfere with everything I want to do."
It happened that the bank which Tony had missed won steadily, and while the heavy-jowled man who held it raked in money from everybody, Tony watched him like a dog that watches his master eating. At last the bank was finished, and with a heavy sigh of satisfaction the owner of it passed on the box to his neighbor.
"How much did you make?" asked Tony, enviously.
"About two thousand five hundred. I'm not sure. I never count my winnings."
Tears of rage stood in Tony's eyes.
"God! Do you see what you've done for me by your confounded obstinacy?" he exclaimed to his wife.
All the way home he raged at her, and when they were in the flat he demanded that she should give him back all his £2,000.
"So you've reached the point," she said, bitterly, "when not even promises count?"