“Captain Mortimer took his seat in the banker’s chair,” resumed the Countess, “and as he did so he looked upon those about him. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘luck has been to me lately a sorry jade. Let’s see if she will now mend her ways. If she doesn’t and you succeed in breaking this bank, there’s nothing left to me but to surrender the freedom and the joys of happy bachelorhood, accept the offer which I have of a command in the Imperial Guard, go to Court and—marry an heiress. Now, gentlemen, proceed and do your worst.’”
“How delightfully dramatic,” exclaimed Lady Hadley-Barton.
“Well, and what happened next?” eagerly inquired Baroness Maquehaye.
“Fortune favored the gallant Captain at one time and it looked as if he might escape the dire fate of having to sell his prized liberty to the God of Mammon, as represented in the person of an heiress. But the luck veered and set in heavily against the bank. The right tableau won steadily; but the left—the one nearest the banker’s heart, you will observe—did the mischief. There came a heavy coup, both tableaux winning, and the bank was broken.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Baroness Maquehaye with tense interest.
“The poor Captain!” remarked Lady Hadley-Barton.
“Captain Mortimer showed not the least perturbation,” resumed Countess Brooke. “He rose from the table, lighted a cigar and, turning to those about him, said: ‘I congratulate you, gentlemen, but that settles it for me. Now for the Court and—the heiress!’”
“I call that an interesting story,” exclaimed Lady Hadley-Barton. “Strange I hadn’t heard it before.”
“Interesting, perhaps, but decidedly mercenary,” commented Baroness Maquehaye with some show of disdain.
“Mercenary!” echoed Countess Brooke, “surely you’re severe. Call it un mariage de convenance—or of necessity, if you will—it sounds more pretty! Isn’t the Captain a decidedly presentable man and one famed for his bravery in the war? Won’t the heiress who buys him with her gold secure her money’s worth?”