"Another of my numbers!" she murmured, with a faint show of interest. "I don't think I want to play, though."
"Try just a few coups," he begged. "You see, there is a chair here. You may not have a chance again for hours."
He was using all his will power. Somehow or other, she found herself seated in front of the table. The sight of the pile of plaques and the roll of notes was inspiring. She leaned across and with trembling fingers backed number fourteen en plein, with all the carrés and chevaux. She was playing the game at which she had lost so persistently. He walked slowly away. Every now and then from a distance he watched her. She was winning and losing alternately, but she had settled down now in earnest. He breathed a great sigh of relief and took a seat upon a divan, whence he could see if she moved. Richard Lane, who had been standing at the other side of the table, crossed the room and came over to him.
"Say, do you know where Sir Henry is?" he enquired.
Draconmeyer shook his head.
"I have scarcely seen him all day."
"I think I'll go round to the hotel and look him up," Lane decided carelessly. "I'm fed up with this—"
He stopped short. He was no longer an exceedingly bored and discontented-looking young man. Draconmeyer glanced at him curiously. He felt a thrill of sympathy. This stolid young man, then, was capable of feeling something of the same emotion as was tearing at his own heart-strings. Lane was gazing with transfigured face towards the open doorway.