‘Oh, Nora, my darling, this is not fair of you. You are prejudiced against my old chum—I have seen that from the beginning—but to say that dear old Jack wins all the stakes, night after night, is as good as saying—oh, I am sure you cannot mean it—you cannot think of the meaning of what you say.’
‘My dear Ilfracombe, there is no meaning about it. I am only speaking the plain truth. I’ve seen it for a long time. Doubtless, Mr Portland is the best player of the four, and that is the reason, but it has struck me as rather remarkable. And it seems so strange, too, that friends should want, or like to pocket each other’s money. Why can’t we play for the love of the game? It would be quite as interesting, surely.’
‘No, no, child, it wouldn’t. Whoever heard of such a thing as grown men sitting down seriously to play for love?’ cried the earl merrily; ‘that’s only schoolgirl’s games. And I wonder to hear you, Nora, who are such a little woman of the world, suggesting such a thing. I should have thought you liked staking your money as well as anyone.’
‘Perhaps it is because I am a woman of the world that I don’t like to see my husband’s money wasted. No income, however large, can stand such a strain long. Besides, I know it is not only cards on which you bet with Mr Portland. You go to races with him, and lose a lot of money there. Mr Castelton told me so!’
‘It is not true, Nora, and Castelton had better mind his own business. Everybody must lose occasionally; but I always follow Jack’s lead, and he’s as safe as the church clock. And, after all, my dear girl, I’d as soon the tin went into old Jack’s pocket as my own. He’s awfully hard up sometimes, and if one can’t share some of one’s good things with one’s best friend, I don’t know what’s the use of them.’
‘Well, leave a little for me,’ cried Nora gaily, and her husband’s answer should have at least satisfied her that she would always be his first care. But she was not satisfied with regard to the nightly games of cards. She watched the players more closely after this conversation than before, and decided within herself that she had been correct, and Jack Portland was by far the heaviest and most frequent winner. One day, when they were alone together, she could not help congratulating him, in a sarcastic manner, on his continual run of good luck. He guessed at her meaning in a minute.
‘Do you mean to infer that I cheat?’ he asked her abruptly.
Then Nora felt a little ashamed of herself and did not know what to reply.
‘Oh, no, of course not. How could you think of such a thing? Only it is evident that you are a far better player than Lord Babbage or Ilfracombe, and, to my mind, the odds are very much against them. As for poor me, you have ruined me already. I have lost all my pin-money for the next three months.’
‘Nonsense!’ he said rudely (Mr Portland could be exceedingly rude to her when they were alone), ‘you know you can get as much money out of Ilfracombe as you can possibly want. The man is infatuated with you. More fool he. But he’ll find out how much your love is worth some day.’