Once more the ball slithered into the number she had backed, and she opened a small silken bag, that already bulged with her evening’s gains, and added the winnings of the last coup. At the same moment, some one pressing from behind jolted her arm, and the bag fell with a little thud, its contents spilling out on the floor. Tony, engrossed in the play, failed to notice the mishap and went on staking, but the Englishman, apparently quite unconcerned as to the chances he might be missing, stooped at once and collected the bag and its scattered contents.
“I think I’ve rescued everything,” he said, as he handed it to her. “But you’d better count it over and make certain.”
“Oh, no, I won’t count it. It’s sure to be all right. Thank you so much.” Ann spoke rather breathlessly. For some reason or other she felt unaccountably nervous.
The man smiled.
“You’ve become such a Croesus to-night that I suppose an odd franc or two doesn’t matter?” he suggested.
“I have been lucky, haven’t I?” she acknowledged frankly. “It’s been such fun.” Then, with friendly sympathy: “I’m afraid you’ve lost, though?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m used to losing,” he replied indifferently.
Somehow, Ann felt as though he were not thinking only of his losses at the tables. That note of bitterness in his voice sprang from some deeper undercurrent.
“I’m so sorry,” she said simply.