“Of course, poor boy, I know one can’t always win. If you won’t play, give me some money and I’ll play for you.”
He took a hundred franc note from his pocket and handed it to her. She looked at it with a surprised contempt that nettled him. As if it were dirt she threw it on the first table. Of course it was swept away.
“There!” she said pettishly, “that’s gone. Well, it’s no use staying here if we don’t play. It’s tiresome. Let’s go where there’s music and dancing.”
They went to the High Life, a place he disliked. It had a rakehell atmosphere, and suggested debauch. He also resented the obvious fact that she was quite at home there.
“Faugh! a den of gilded corruption!” he was thinking, when an insinuating head-waiter presented a wine card and suggested a certain expensive brand of champagne.
“I know it’s the kind madam prefers,” he murmured.
“Do order a bottle,” said Mrs. Belmire carelessly.
Hugh ordered, and at her further suggestion he demanded a homard American; the bill came to two hundred francs. He was annoyed.
“Damned robbers,” he thought. “Well, they won’t get ahead of me on the champagne. I’ll finish the bottle.”
As he drank the place became more and more cheerful. He felt very strong and very playful. He clutched Mrs. Belmire’s arm; once even he pinched her cheek and called her Marion. She looked at him curiously. There is no saying to what further indiscretions his exhilaration might have prompted him, had not there at that moment occurred the episode of the Nouveau Riche and the Sick Soldier.