“Why don’t you take a hand yourself, to give him courage?” suggested Denver.
“Not at poker. I don’t understand it,” said she.
“Well, at anything you like. What do you know? Baccarat? Nap? I don’t care what it is as long as it’s cards,” said Denver.
Miss Davison consented to sit down and make one at nap, and, to Gerard’s uneasiness, she won as much as the Van Santens did. But still Cecil Jones lost steadily, until he declared that he had no more money to play with.
Miss Davison seemed quite delighted at her own luck, and gathered up her winnings in triumph.
The others congratulated her, and Gerard watched her as she sailed out of the room and on to the terrace, with her winnings in her hands to show to Delia Van Santen.
Delia was the center of a lively group who were sitting on the terrace in the evening air, laughing and talking and enjoying themselves more innocently than the gamblers within.
Cora and Arthur Aldington were sitting apart on the stone balustrade, and Gerard could see that the young man was getting every moment more deeply in love with the graceful songstress.
Miss Davison ran up to Mrs. Van Santen and showed her winnings with delight; but the old lady was not pleased.
“Dear me,” she said, “I don’t know what you young folks want with so much money, that you must needs gamble to get it! I should have thought it was much pleasanter to spend the evening in this beautiful air than in those hot rooms! And you, Miss Davison! I’m surprised at you. I was looking to you to win Denver from his gaming ways! He thinks so much of you, and admires you so much! And now you’re encouraging him in it!”