The man gave him a double handful, which he put down between Aileen’s white arms.
“One hundred on two. One hundred on four. One hundred on six. One hundred on eight.”
The pieces were five-dollar gold pieces, and Aileen quickly built up the little yellow stacks and shoved them in place. Again the other players stopped and began to watch the odd pair. Aileen’s red-gold head, and pink cheeks, and swimming eyes, her body swathed in silks and rich laces; and Lynde, erect, his shirt bosom snowy white, his face dark, almost coppery, his eyes and hair black—they were indeed a strikingly assorted pair.
“What’s this? What’s this?” asked Grier, coming up. “Who’s plunging? You, Mrs. Cowperwood?”
“Not plunging,” replied Lynde, indifferently. “We’re merely working out a formula—Mrs. Cowperwood and I. We’re doing it together.”
Aileen smiled. She was in her element at last. She was beginning to shine. She was attracting attention.
“One hundred on twelve. One hundred on eighteen. One hundred on twenty-six.”
“Good heavens, what are you up to, Lynde?” exclaimed Lord, leaving Mrs. Rhees and coming over. She followed. Strangers also were gathering. The business of the place was at its topmost toss—it being two o’clock in the morning—and the rooms were full.
“How interesting!” observed Miss Lanman, at the other end of the table, pausing in her playing and staring. McKibben, who was beside her, also paused. “They’re plunging. Do look at all the money! Goodness, isn’t she daring-looking—and he?” Aileen’s shining arm was moving deftly, showily about.
“Look at the bills he’s breaking!” Lynde was taking out a thick layer of fresh, yellow bills which he was exchanging for gold. “They make a striking pair, don’t they?”