He strolled away to another table. When he came back, she was sitting idle in her place, restless and excited, but still full of confidence.
"I am a little to the good," she told him, "but I have left off for a few minutes. The very low numbers are turning up and they are no use to me."
"Come and have that sandwich," he begged. "You really ought to take something."
"The place shall be kept for madame," the croupier whispered. "I shall be here for another two hours."
She nodded and rose. They made their way out of the Rooms and down into the restaurant on the ground-floor. They found a little table near the wall and he ordered some pâté sandwiches and champagne. Whilst they waited she counted up her money, making calculations on a slip of paper. Draconmeyer leaned back in his chair, watching her. His back was towards the door and they were at the end table. He permitted himself the luxury of looking at her almost greedily; of dropping, for a few moments, the mask which he placed always upon his features in her presence. In his way the man was an artist, a great collector of pictures and bronzes, a real lover and seeker after perfection. Often he found himself wandering towards his little gallery, content to stand about and gloat over some of his most treasured possessions. Yet the man's personality clashed often with his artistic pretensions. He scarcely ever found himself amongst his belongings without realising the existence of a curious feeling, wholly removed from the pure artistic pleasure of their contemplation. It was the sense of ownership which thrilled him. Something of the same sensation was upon him now. She was the sort of woman he had craved for always—slim, elegant, and what to him, with his quick powers of observation, counted for so much, she was modish, reflecting in her presence, her dress and carriage, even her speech, the best type of the prevailing fashion. She excited comment wherever she appeared. People, as he knew very well even now, were envying him his companion. And beneath it all—she, the woman, was there. All his life he had fought for the big things—political power, immense wealth, the confidence of his great master—all these had come to him easily. And at that moment they were like baubles!
She looked up at last and there was a slight frown upon her forehead.
"I am still a little down, starting from where I had the ten mille," she sighed. "I thought—"
She stopped short. There was a curious change in her face. Her eyes were fixed upon some person approaching. Draconmeyer turned quickly in his chair. Almost as he did so, Hunterleys paused before their table. Violet looked up at him with quivering lips. For a moment it seemed as though she were stepping out of her sordid surroundings.
"Henry!" she exclaimed. "Did you come to look for me? Did you know that we were here?"
"How should I?" he answered calmly. "I was strolling around with David Briston. We are at the Opera."