“What is it?” he demanded thickly—“I am not clever at cards. Are you?” This with a stupid laugh and sentimental look at Lenore.
“Oh no! I never play anything!” said the young lady, smiling sweetly. “I only look on! But I think baccarat is a very amusing game. Do play!”
Whereupon he sat down with the rest of the men, and was soon, under the guidance of the Marquis, in the full heat and excitement of play. He did not know in the least what he was doing,—he obeyed every hint from the Marquis, or from Lenore, who leaned over his shoulder caressingly and whispered now and then—“I would play that if I were you”—or “I would do that.” Everything was in a whirl with him, and he only came to his senses at last with a sharp shock when, at the conclusion of four or five games, the Marquis asked courteously,—
“Would you care to go on any further, Mr. D’Arcy-Muir? Pray do not think me officious for reminding you that you have lost five hundred pounds already!”
Boy started from his chair.
“What? Five hundred pounds! Nonsense! I thought we were playing for fun,—for sixpences,—for——”
“No, not exactly!” said the Marquis urbanely and with a slight smile. “You have been rather unlucky so far,—but if you wish to go on, it is possible you may win back what you have lost.”
But Boy still stood amazed, with a wild look in his eyes.
“Lost! Five hundred pounds! My God!” Then rallying a little he looked around him bewilderedly. “To whom do I owe this money?”
The other men laughed carelessly.