The only person who did not appear to be concerned was Ginger himself. He gathered up his loot, thrust it into his pocket, and elbowed his way to where Sally stood, now definitely established in the eyes of the crowd as a pariah. There was universal regret that he had decided to call it a day. It was to the spectators as though a star had suddenly walked off the stage in the middle of his big scene; and not even a loud and violent quarrel which sprang up at this moment between two excitable gamblers over a disputed five-franc counter could wholly console them.
“I say,” said Ginger, dexterously plucking Sally out of the crowd, “this is topping, meeting you like this. I've been looking for you everywhere.”
“It's funny you didn't find me, then, for that's where I've been. I was looking for you.”
“No, really?” Ginger seemed pleased. He led the way to the quiet ante-room outside the gambling-hall, and they sat down in a corner. It was pleasant here, with nobody near except the gorgeously uniformed attendant over by the door. “That was awfully good of you.”
“I felt I must have a talk with you before my train went.”
Ginger started violently.
“Your train? What do you mean?”
“The puff-puff,” explained Sally. “I'm leaving to-night, you know.”
“Leaving?” Ginger looked as horrified as the devoutest of the congregation of which Sally had just ceased to be a member. “You don't mean leaving? You're not going away from Roville?”
“I'm afraid so.”