Mrs. Travis, playing her new “system” with assiduous ignorance, had lost all her own money, had borrowed Jocelyn’s, and lost that. She left the “Rooms” stiff with anger, erect, annoyed with her croupier, whom she believed capable of predicting the coming numbers if he would, strongly convinced that if she had brought more money she must have won, secretly ruffled with Jocelyn for not having more to lend her.
Very little was said on the return journey; Mrs. Travis’s quick green eyes seemed restlessly on the watch for something to resent, Jocelyn was tired, Giles moody. Only when they neared the hotel, he touched her sleeve gently, saying—
“You know we are off to-morrow?”
“Yes,” she answered, “I am so sorry.”
She stopped, and a faint colour came into her cheeks.
“I shall miss our walks dreadfully, and Shika—poor boy: he won’t get his cake. Will you remember to give it him every afternoon?”
“No,” said Giles shortly, “I’ll bring him over for you to give it.”
“Oh!” she said, drawing little circles in the dust with the end of her parasol. He was standing in front of her, tall and straight, with his hat off, and a very grave face. She looked up at him quickly, and held out her hand with a smile.
“We are dining out,” she said, “I don’t suppose I shall see you again. Good-bye, Giles.” He took her hand in his, and held it a moment, looking very hard into her face; then he let it go, and stood quite still while she climbed the terrace steps. She turned her head once, and he caught a side glimpse of a tired, rather sad, little face under a shady hat.