"I am hideously out of luck," she confessed slowly. "I have been losing all day. I think that I shall give it up."
She rose wearily to her feet and he felt a sudden compassion for her. She was certainly looking tired. Her eyes were weary, she had the air of an unhappy woman. After all, perhaps she too sometimes knew what loneliness was.
"I should like some tea so much," she added, a little piteously.
He opened his lips to invite her to pass through into the restaurant with him. Then the memory of that forged order still in his pocket, flashed into his mind. He hesitated. A cold, familiar voice at his elbow intervened.
"Are you quite ready for tea, Lady Hunterleys? I have been in and taken a table near the window."
Hunterleys moved at once on one side. Draconmeyer bowed pleasantly.
"Cheerful time we had last night, hadn't we?" he remarked. "Glad to see your knock didn't lay you up."
Hunterleys disregarded his wife's glance. He was suddenly furious.
"All Monte Carlo seems to be gossiping about that little contretemps," Draconmeyer continued. "It was a crude sort of hold-up for a neighbourhood of criminals, but it very nearly came off. Will you have some tea with us?"
"Do, Henry," his wife begged.