"That is the money which my father has won from you."
This was her greeting as the young gentleman entered the room.
"Mdlle. de Fontanes!"
There was a pause. Mr Davison looked from the lady to the money, and from the money to the lady. With a little movement she lifted her veil.
He saw her face; it was pale, with the look upon it which follows a sleepless night.
"Did you think that we would keep it?" She put out her hand and touched his sleeve. "Did you think so badly of us, then, as that?"
He thought that he had never seen her look so pretty. There was something in her voice which caused "a choking in his throat.
"But I cannot take the money. Especially--if you will forgive me, Mdlle. de Fontanes--especially from you."
She sat down. For a moment she covered her face with her hands. Suddenly she rose.
"Do not make my burden heavier than it is already. Mr Davison, my father cannot help but cheat. It is a disease. In the common things of life he is the most honourable of men--the best of fathers. But with the cards, night after night, since he must play, I play with him, and he cheats me."