Clara shrugged her shoulders, and looked at herself in a mirror.
"I do look chippy, don't I?" she remarked. "I've been spending the week-end down at Bristow."
"At Bristow?" Berenice repeated. Her voice spoke volumes. Clara looked up a little defiantly.
"Yes! We had an awful spree! I like it there immensely, only—"
Berenice looked up.
"I notice," she remarked, "that there is generally an 'only' about people who have spent week-ends at Bristow. They play cards there, don't they, until daylight? Some one once told me that they kept a professional croupier for roulette!"
"That horrid game!" Clara exclaimed. "Please don't mention it. I've scarcely slept a wink all night for thinking of it."
Berenice looked at her in surprise.
"Do you mean to say," she inquired, deliberately, "that they allowed you to play—and lose?"
"It wasn't their fault I lost," Clara answered. "Oh, what a fool I was. Bobby Bristow showed me a system. It seemed so easy. I didn't think I could possibly lose. It worked beautifully at first. I thought that I was going to pay all my bills, and have lots of money to spend. Then I doubled the stakes—I wanted to win a lot—and everything went wrong!"