He became aware of some one standing on the balcony, gravely intent upon their figures as they climbed the shadeless road; and he saw a faint flush steal into his companion’s cheeks, a tiny pucker of vexation contract her brows.
“I shall have to explain you,” she said. “They’ll never let me take Bruno out again.”
“Not take out your dog!” he exclaimed.
“Oh, he isn’t mine. He belongs to the house. I have never owned anything so valuable as a dog.” She laughed again, entirely without bitterness, and added: “The advantage of possessing nothing lies in the knowledge that one can never suffer the disappointment of loss.”
He wondered whether she guessed that he was suffering keenly from the particular disappointment of which she spoke, whether, when those clear eyes had fastened upon his in the surprise of that first encounter, she had discerned the breathless, almost feverish, anxiety with which he hung on the issue of the game. He felt that she would not sympathise with him if he confessed to her that he had lost his all, that he could boast no greater possessions than herself. He recalled the disapproval in her look; and he felt that in no circumstance could he be drawn to confide in her that for over a week he had been steadily gambling, and, for the greater part of the time, losing heavily. She simply would not understand.
“It is an advantage truly,” he allowed—“so long as one is sure of one’s next meal. I enjoy that enviable condition with yourself.”
“Yes. But you won’t enjoy it for long.”
“You mean?” he asked.
“You’ll acquire... Men can.”
“And can’t women too?”