He turned. He looked at this woman who was his foe—his victor.
Slowly he said:
"There is supposed to be honor among thieves. Apparently there is none among libertines."
He took his hat from where it lay amid the confusion of the table. He bowed, first to the woman, then to Schuyler. He was a proud man—a strong man. It hurt him to lose—and the more because the stake had been so great…. He passed across the room, and through the door, closing it behind him.
Upon the woman, still laughing in the delight of her success, Schuyler rounded. There was in his heart, too, a great bitterness—a great hurt. For he, too, realized how near he had been to salvation—and that realization made the present distance seem yet greater than ever before; and God alone knew how great that was.
"I hope you're satisfied," he remarked, dully. "Now even he has gone.
You've broken the last link that bound me to the life that was."
Again she laughed, ringingly, merrily.
Then the greatness of his wrath obsessed him.
"Laugh!" he cried, wildly. "Laugh at your fool!—the helpless, spineless, soulless fool who does your bidding even to the depths of hell! Laugh! … Laugh! …" Suddenly, his body seemed to wither. He leaned weakly against the back of the great chair…. His head sunk slowly upon his arms….
There came suddenly from the stairway a little, delighted, cry in childish treble.