“I never expect to win,” he returned curtly. “If you expect nothing, you’re never disappointed. Pray don’t waste your sympathy.”
The rudeness of the speech took her aback. Yet, sensing in its very churlishness the sting of some old hurt, she answered him quietly, though with heightened colour:
“If you expect nothing, you’ll get nothing. That’s one of the rules of the road.”
He checked himself in the act of turning away, and regarded her with a mixture of contempt and amusement, much as one might smile at the utterances of a child.
“Don’t you think we get mostly what we’re looking for?” she went on courageously. “If you expect good things, they’ll come to you, and if you’re expecting bad things, they’ll come, too.”
He gave a short laugh.
“The doctrine of faith! I’m afraid I’ve outgrown it—many years ago.”
“Faites vos jeux, messieurs,” intoned the croupier.
The Englishman tossed a coin on to number nine. Ann followed the circlings of the ball with a curious tense anxiety. She wished desperately that the nine would turn up.
“Numéro un!”