“I lost a bit at Monte,” he admitted. “I was winning pots of money at first, and then all at once my luck turned and I lost the lot.”
“And more, too, I suppose?” suggested Ann rather wearily.
He nodded.
“I shall get it all back at cards, though,” he assured her.
“Have you got any of it back yet?” she asked pointedly.
“No, But it stands to reason my run of bad luck must turn sooner or later. Come on back to the ball-room and let’s dance this, Ann—don’t lecture me any more, there’s a dear.”
She yielded to those persuasive, long-lashed eyes of his, and they returned to the ball-room and finished the remainder of the dance. But her conversation with Tony had added to the oppression of her spirits. She felt sure, from the way he shirked the subject, that he was getting himself into financial difficulties again, and if the matter came to Sir Philip’s ears she was afraid that this time it might end in an irreparable cleavage between uncle and nephew. The former had paid Tony’s debts so often, and on the last occasion he had warned him very definitely that he would never do so again. And Ann was fain to acknowledge that one could hardly blame the old man if by this time he had really reached the limits of his patience—and his purse.
She was still brooding rather unhappily over Tony’s affairs when Robin came to claim her for a dance. He, too, seemed rather preoccupied and distrait, and as they swung out into the room together Ann cast about in her mind for some explanation of his unwonted gloom. A minute later she caught an illuminating glimpse of Cara, sitting alone by the big fire which still smouldered redly at the far end of the room, and a queer little smile of understanding curved her lips.
“You’ve only danced with Cara once this evening, Robin,” she observed. “Have you been squabbling?”
He laughed.