The card-parties in Clarges Street had been held during peak period of gaming. Gentlemen had thought nothing of staking rouleaus of fifty guineas on the turn of a card, and the profits of the modest little house had really quite justified the acquiring of a much larger establishment in St James’s Square But whether it was because there had been a great deal of absurd stuff written in the daily papers about the wickedness of such gaming-houses as Mrs Sturt’s, and Lady Buckingham’s, which might have caused the attendances to fall off trifle; or whether because the expenses of the house in St James’s Square were much heavier than Lady Bellingham had anticipated, there had not been any profits to enjoy for several months. Of course, quite large sums of money found their way into Lady Bellingham’s pockets, but somehow or other these were always swallowed up by the tide of bill which so inexplicably threatened to engulf the house. For the past few weeks, too, the establishment had been suffering from a run of most persistent ill-luck. The faro-bank ha been broken for six thousand pounds on one disastrous evening, and a misfortune such as that was hard to recover from Lady Bellingham had done her best by introducing the game of E.O. into her rooms, but even this had not gone very far to set matters to rights, since serious gamesters were inclined to despise it, and it certainly could not be said to improve tone of the house. In fact, as Deborah said bitterly, it reduced it to the ranks of quite common gaming-hells.
It had been one of Lucius Kennet’s ideas, well-meant, of course, but very displeasing to Miss Grantham. He had lately been talking of the new game of roulette, which seemed to be played on much the same principles as E.O., but Miss Grantham was determined that no roulette board should make its appearance in St James’s Square.
Mr Kennet, when Miss Grantham joined him, was idly engaged in casting the dice, right hand against left, on a small table in the centre of the room. “Good morning, me darlin’,” he said cheerfully, not desisting from his occupation. “Will you look at the fiend’s own luck of my left hand, now? Upon my soul, it can’t lose!” He cast a shrewd glance at Miss Grantham’s rather pensive expression, and added: “What’s the trouble, me dear? Is it Ormskirk again, or will it be the suckling;”
“It isn’t either,” replied Deborah, sitting down on the opposite side of the table. “At least, no more than I’m used to. Lucius, what is to become of us?”
“Why, what should become of you at all?”
“My aunt is quite distracted. There are nothing but bills!”
“Ah, throw them in the fire, me dear.”
“You know well that won’t answer! I wish you will stop casting the bones!”
He gathered them up into the palm of one hand, tossing them into the air, and catching them as they fell. There was a smile in his eyes as he answered: “Your heart’s not in this, is it?”
“Sometimes I think I hate it,” she admitted, sinking her chin into her cupped hands, and glowering. “Oh, the devil, Lucius I’m no gamester!”