4 
 
 alifornia 
 
 l^ional 
 
 iliti 
 
 '^ p f. n fi I) u r 5 1 u
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 /
 
 Ill'; I.OWICRKI) rilK CANDI.KS AND DUKVV RACK
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 B IHovcl 
 
 BY 
 
 KATHERINE CECIL THURSTON 
 
 AUTHOR OH 
 
 "THE MASQUERADER" ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK AND LONDON 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
 
 1905
 
 Copyright, 1905, by Katiiekine Cecil Thurston. 
 
 .7// rights reserved. 
 Published September, 1905.
 
 TO 
 THE MEMORY OF 
 
 MY MOTHER 
 
 694333
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 'he lowered the candles and drew back Frcnitispiece 
 
 ''YOU WANT TO MARRY ME?' SHE SAID" . . . Facing p. 1 30 
 
 "come here AND LET's BE COMFORTABLE'" . " 298 
 
 "can you TOLERATE SUCH AN EARLY VISITOR?' 
 
 SHE asked" " 322 
 
 "'l 1 COULD NOT REPAY IT BEFORE JANUARY ' " " 39O 
 
 li i 
 
 1 1 « 
 
 OH, SOMETHING, I AM AFRAID, THAT WOULDN T 
 
 INTEREST you'" " 426 
 
 "she was SPEEDING DOWN THE LONG CORRIDOR 
 
 TO THE stairs" " 444 
 
 "she DREW BACK QUICKLY AS THE REST OF THE 
 
 PARTY CAME HURRYING TO THE CARRIAGE" . " 454
 
 THE GAMBLER
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 AN eight-mile drive over rain-washed Irish roads 
 i in the quick-falling dusk of autumn is an ex- 
 perience trying to the patience, even to the temper, 
 of the average Saxon. Yet James Milbanke made 
 neither comment nor objection as mile after mile 
 of roadway spun away like a ribbon behind him, as 
 the mud rose in showers from the wheels of the old- 
 fashioned trap in which he sat and the half -trained 
 mare between the shafts swerved now to the right, 
 now to the left, her nervous glance caught by the 
 snectral shapes of the Vjlackthorn hedges or the 
 Tnotionless forms of the wayside donkeys lying 
 asleep in the ditches. Perhaps this stoicism was the 
 outcome of an innate power to endure; perhaps it was 
 a merely negative quality illustrating the lack of 
 that doubtful blessing, imagination. Whatever its 
 origin it stood him in good stead as he covered the 
 long stretch of flat country that links the south- 
 eastern seaport of Muskeere with the remote fishing 
 village of Carrigmore and its outlying district of 
 Orristovvn. 
 
 His outlook upon Ireland, like his outlook upon 
 life, was untingcd by humor. He had seen no 
 ground for amusement in the fact that he had been 
 
 I
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 the only passenger to alight from the train at the 
 Muskeere terminus, and consequently no ground for 
 loneliness in the sight of the solitary vehicle, dimly 
 silhouetted against the murky sky, that had awaited 
 his coming. The ludicrous points of the scene — the 
 primitive railway station with its insufficient flicker- 
 ing lights, its little knot of inquisitive idlers, its one 
 porter, slovenly, amiable, incorrigibly lazy, all con- 
 tributing the unconscious background to his own 
 neat, conventional, totally alien personality, had left 
 him untouched. 
 
 The only individual to whom the picture had 
 made its appeal had been the solitary porter. As 
 he relieved Milbanke of his valise and rug on the 
 step of the first-class carriage an undeniable twinkle 
 had gleamed in his eyes. 
 
 "Fine soft night, sir!" he had volunteered. "Tim 
 Burke is outside for you." ' 
 
 For a second Milbanke had stared at him m a 
 mixture of doubt and displeasure. A month's pil- 
 grimage to the ancient Celtic landmarks had left him, 
 as it has left many a Saxon before him, unlearned 
 in that most interesting and most inscrutable of all 
 survivals — the Celt himself. He had surveyed the 
 face of the porter cautiously and half distrustfully; 
 then he had made a guarded reply. 
 
 "I am certainly expecting a — a conveyance," he 
 had admitted. "But I have never heard the name 
 of Tim Burke. 
 
 "Why, thin, Tim has heard of youT* the other had 
 replied, with unruffled suavity. " Isn't it the English 
 gintleman that's goin' to stop wid Mr. Asshlin over at 
 Orristown that you are ? Sure Tim told me all about 
 you; an' I knew you the minute I sat eyes on you — 
 let alone there was no wan else in the train." With- 
 
 2
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 out more ado he had hoisted Milbanke's belongings to 
 his shoulder and lounged out of the station, 
 
 "Here you are, Tim, man!" he had exclaimed, as 
 he had deposited the articles one after another under 
 the seat of the trap with a lofty disregard of their 
 owner. " 'Tis a soft night an' a long road you have 
 before you. Is it cold the mare is ?" He had paused 
 to eye the impatient young animal before him with 
 the Irishman's unfailing appreciation of horseflesh. 
 
 Here Milbanke, feeling that some veiled reproof 
 had been suggested, had broken in upon the mono- 
 logue. 
 
 "I hope I haven't injured the horse by the delay," 
 he had said, hastily. "The train was exactly twen- 
 ty-two minutes behind its time." 
 
 Then for the first time the old coachman had bent 
 down from his lofty position. 
 
 "An' sure what harm if it was, sir?" he had ex- 
 claimed, voicing the hospitality due to his master's 
 guest. "What hurry is there at all — so long as it 
 brought you safe!" 
 
 "True for you, Tim," the porter had interjected, 
 softly, and, seizing Milbanke's arm, he had swung 
 him into the trap precisely as he had swung the 
 luggage a few seconds previously. 
 
 "Thank you, sir," he had murmured a moment 
 later. "Good -night to you! Good-night, Tim! Safe 
 road!" And drawing back he had looked on with 
 admiration while Burke had gathered up the reins 
 and the mare had plunged forward into the misty, 
 sea-scented night. 
 
 That had been Milbanke's first introduction into 
 the district where he proposed to spend a week with 
 a man he had not seen for nearly thirty years. 
 
 As the trap moved forward, leaving the straggling 
 
 3
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 town with its scattered lights far behind, his thoughts, 
 temporarily distracted by the incidents of his arrival, 
 reverted to the channel in which they had run dur- 
 ing the greater part of the day. Again his mind 
 returned to the period of his college career when, as a 
 quiet student, he had been drawn by the subtle at- 
 traction of contrast into a friendship with Denis 
 Asshlin, the young Irishman whose spirit, whose 
 enthusiasms, whose exuberant joy in life had shone 
 in such vivid colors beside his own neutral-tinted 
 personality. His thoughts passed methodically from 
 those eager, early days to the more sober ones that 
 had followed Asshlin's recall to Ireland, and thence 
 onward over the succeeding tale of years. He re- 
 viewed his own calm if somewhat lonely manhood ; 
 his aimless delving first into one branch of learning, 
 then into another; his gradually dawning interest in 
 the study of archaeology — an interest that, fostered 
 by ample leisure and ample means, had become the 
 temperate and well-ordered passion of his life. The 
 retrospect was pleasant. There is always an agree- 
 able sensation to a man of Milbanke's temperament 
 in looking back upon unruffled times. He became 
 oblivious of the ruts in the road and of the mare's 
 erratic movements as he traced the course of events 
 to the point where, two months before, the discovery 
 of a dozen platters of pure gold and as many drinking- 
 vessels, embedded in a bog in the County Tyrone, 
 had turned the eyes of the archaeological world upon 
 Ireland; and he, with other students of antiquity, 
 had been bitten with the desire to see the unique and 
 priceless objects for himself. 
 
 The journey to Tyrone had been a pleasant ex- 
 perience; and it was there, under the mild exaltation 
 of the genuine find, that it had suddenly been sug- 
 
 4
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 gested to his mind that certain ancient ruins, includ- 
 ing a remarkable specimen of the Irish Round Tower, 
 were to be found on the southeast coast not three 
 miles from the property of his old college friend. 
 
 Whether it was the archaeological instinct to res- 
 urrect the past, or the merely human wish to relive 
 his own small portion of it, that had prompted him 
 to write to Asshlin must remain an open question. 
 It is sufficient that the letter was written and de- 
 spatched and that the answer came in hot haste. 
 
 It had reached him in the form of a telegram 
 running as follows: 
 
 " Come at once and stay for a year. Stagnating to death 
 in this isolation. Asshlin." 
 
 An hour later another and a more voluminous message 
 had followed, in which, as if by an after - thought, 
 he had been given the necessary directions as to the 
 means of reaching Orristown. 
 
 It was at the point where his musings reached 
 Asshlin's telegrams that he awakened from his 
 revery and looked about him. For the first time a 
 personal interest in the country through which he 
 was passing stirred him. He realized that the salt 
 sting of the sea had again begun to mingle with the 
 night mist, and judged thereby that the road had 
 again emerged upon the coast. He noticed that the 
 hedges had become sparser; that wherever a tree 
 loomed out of the dusk it bore the mark of the sea 
 gales in a certain grotesqueness of shape. 
 
 This was the isolation of which Asshlin had spoken! 
 
 With an impulse extremely uncommon to him, 
 he turned in his seat and addressed the silent old 
 coachman beside him. "Has your master altered 
 much in thirty years?" he asked. 
 
 5
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 There was silence for a while. Old Burke, with 
 the deliberation of his class, liked to weigh his words 
 before giving them utterance. 
 
 "Is it Mister Dinis changed?" he repeated at last. 
 Then almost immediately he corrected himself. 
 "Sure 'tis Mister Asshlin I ought to be sayin', sir. 
 But the ould name slips out. Though the poor 
 master is gone these twenty-nine year — the Lord 
 have mercy on him! — I can niver git it into me head 
 that 'tis to Mister Dinis we ought to be lookin'." 
 
 More than once during his brief stay in Ireland 
 Milbanke had been confronted with this annihilation 
 of time in the Celtic mind, and Burke's statement 
 aroused no surprise. 
 
 "Has he changed?" he asked again, in his dry, 
 precise voice. 
 
 Burke was silent, while the mare pulled hard on 
 the reins. And having regained his mastery over 
 her he looked down on his companion. 
 
 "Is it changed?" he said. "Sure why wouldn't 
 he be changed ? With the father gone — an' the 
 wife gone — an' the children growin' up. Sure 'tis 
 changed we all are an' goin' down the hill fast, God 
 help us!" 
 
 Milbanke glanced up sharply. 
 
 "Children?" he said. "Children?" 
 
 Burke turned in his seat. 
 
 "Sure 'tisn't to have the ould stock die out you'd 
 be wantin' ?" he said. "You'd travel the round of 
 the county before you'd see the like of Mister Dinis's 
 children — though 'tis girls they are." 
 
 "Girls?" Milbanke's mind was disturbed by the 
 thought of children. Denis Asshlin with children! 
 The idea was incongruous. 
 
 "Two of 'em!" said Burke, laconically. 
 
 6
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Dear me! Dear me! And yet I suppose it's 
 only natural. How old are they?" 
 
 Burke flicked the mare lightly and the trap lurched 
 forward. 
 
 "Miss Clodagh is turned fifteen," he said, "and 
 the youngster is goin' on ten. 'Twas ten year back, 
 come next December, that she was bom. Sure I 
 remimber it well. An' six weeks after Mister Dinis 
 was followin' her poor mother to the church-yard 
 bey ant in Carrigmore. The Lord keep us all! 'Twas 
 she was the nice, quiet creature — and Miss Nance is 
 the livin' stamp of her. But, God bless us, 'tis Miss 
 Clodagh that's her father's child." He added this 
 last remark with a force that at the time conveyed 
 nothing, though it was destined to recur later to 
 Milbanke's mind. 
 
 "But your master?" the stranger repeated. The 
 momentary diversion of the children had ceased to 
 hold him. Again the vision of Asshlin — Asshlin the 
 impetuous hero of past days — had risen intangible, 
 mirage-like, and yet compelling from his native 
 stretch of rugged country. 
 
 But Burke made no reply. All his energies were 
 directed to the guiding of the mare down a steep 
 incline. For a space Milbanke was conscious of a 
 dangerously accelerated pace; then the white piers 
 of a large gate sped past them, and he was aware of 
 the black shadow of overhanging trees. 
 
 Something unusual, something faintly prophetic 
 and only vaguely comprehended, touched his pro- 
 saic nature on that moment. He was entering on a 
 new phase of life. Without conscious preparation 
 he was to see the world from a new point of view. 
 With a fresh spur of anxious curiosity he turned 
 again to Burke. 
 
 7
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "But your master?" he asked. "Has he changed 
 much? Will I see a great alteration?" 
 
 For an added space the old man remained mute, 
 while he piloted the trap up the sweep of avenue 
 with that irresistible desire for a fine finish that ani- 
 mates every Irish driver. Then as they spun round 
 the final curve, as the great, square house loomed 
 out of the mist, he replied without slackening his vigi- 
 lance. 
 
 "Is it changed?" he repeated, half to himself. 
 " Sure if the Almighty doesn't change a man in thirty 
 year it stands to rason that the divil must."
 
 II 
 
 To English ears the reply was curious. Yet with 
 all its vagueness, all its racial inclination tow- 
 ards high color, it held the germ of truth that fre- 
 quently lies in such utterances. With native acute- 
 ness it threw out a suggestion without betraying a 
 confidence. 
 
 An instant after it was spoken there was a final 
 flourish of the whip, a scrape of wheels on the wet 
 gravel, a straining and creaking of damp leather, 
 and the trap drew up before the big white house. Mil- 
 banke caught a fleeting suggestion of a shabby door 
 with pillars on which rested a square balcony of 
 rusty iron — a number of unlighted windows — a gen- 
 eral air of grandeur and decay curiously blended. 
 Then the hall door opened and a voice whose first 
 note roused a hundred memories rolled out across 
 the darkness. 
 
 " Is that you, James? Come in! Come in! Keep 
 the mare in hand, Burke. Steady now, James. Let 
 me hold the rug and give you a hand down. She's 
 a little rogue and might be making a bolt for her 
 stable. Well, you're as welcome as the flowers in 
 May. Come in! Come in!" 
 
 It was over in a flash — the arrival, the tempestuous 
 greeting, the hard grip of Asshlin's hand — and the 
 two men were facing each other in the candle-ht hall. 
 
 " Well, you're welcome, James." Asshlin repeated. 
 
 9
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "You're welcome. Let me have a look at you. I 
 declare, it's younger you are." He laid his hand 
 heavily on the other's shoulder and uttered this 
 obvious untruth with all the warmth and conviction 
 that Irish imagination and Irish hospitality could 
 suggest. 
 
 " But you're perished after the long drive! Burke," 
 he called through the open door. "Burke, when 
 you're done with the mare come round and carry 
 up Mr. Milbanke's baggage. Now, James." He 
 wheeled round again, catching up a silver candle- 
 stick from the hall-table. "Now, if you come up- 
 stairs, I'll show you where we're going to billet you." 
 
 With long, hasty steps he crossed the hall, his tall 
 figure casting gaunt shadows on the bare and lofty 
 wall. 
 
 "We're a trifle unsophisticated here," he went on, 
 with a loud, hard laugh. "But at least we'll give 
 you enough to eat and a bed to lie on. After all, a 
 decent dinner and a warm welcome are the bone and 
 sinew of hospitality the world over. Unless they 
 include a drop of something to put life into a man — " 
 He paused, turning round upon his guest. 
 
 "By Jupiter, that reminds me! Have a small 
 drink before we go another step — just to take the 
 cold out of you?" 
 
 Milbanke, who was close behind him, glanced up. 
 He saw his host's face more clearly than he had seen 
 it in the hall. His answer when it came was hurried 
 and a little confused. 
 
 "No, Denis. No," he said. "Nothing; nothing, I 
 assure you." 
 
 Asshlin laughed again. 
 
 "Still the same stickler?" he said. "How virtues 
 cling to a man!" He turned and began to mount 
 
 lo
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 the stairs; then, reaching the first door on the wide 
 corridor, he paused. 
 
 "Here's your habitation," he said. "Burke will 
 bring up your belongings and get you whatever you 
 want. We dine in a quarter of an hour." He 
 nodded and was turning away when a fresh thought 
 struck him. 
 
 "You may as well take this candle," he said; "we 
 haven't arrived at the civilization of gas. You might 
 stumble over something looking for the matches. 
 This is practically a bachelor establishment, you 
 know — without any bachelor comforts." Once more 
 he laughed, and, thrusting the candlestick into his 
 guest's hand, hurried away across the landing. 
 
 In silence Milbanke took the candle, and, holding 
 it uncertainly, waited until his host had disappeared. 
 Then slowly he turned and entered the large, bare 
 bedroom. For a moment he hesitated, his eyes 
 wandering from the faded window-hangings to the 
 stiff, old-fashioned furniture. Finally, laying aside 
 the candlestick, he sat down upon the side of the for- 
 bidding-looking four-post bedstead. 
 
 What motive prompted him to the action he could 
 scarcely have defined. He was strangely moved 
 by the scene just gone through — stirred in a manner 
 he could never have anticipated. For the moment 
 the precise, matter-of-fact archseologist was sub- 
 merged, and the man — dry, narrow, pedantic per- 
 haps, but nevertheless capable of human sentiments — 
 was uppermost. The sight of Asshlin, the sound of 
 his voice, and the touch of his hand had possessed 
 an alchemy all their own. The past, that years of 
 separation had dimmed and tarnished, had gleamed 
 out from the shadows and taken shape before his eyes. 
 The influence, the fascination that Asshlin had once 
 
 II
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 exercised had touched him again at the first contact 
 of personahties. But it was an altered fascination. 
 The alloy of doubt and apprehension had tainted 
 the old feeling. The question he had been prompted 
 to ask Burke had answered itself at the first glimpse 
 of his host's face. Indisputably, unmistakably Assh- 
 lin had changed. 
 
 And in what lay that change? That was the 
 question he put to himself as he sat on the bed un- 
 consciously noting the long, wavering flicker of the 
 candle-flame against the faded wall-paper. He had 
 aged; but the change did not lie with age alone. 
 Something more relentless and more corroding than 
 time had- drawn the worn, discontented lines about 
 the mouth, kindled the unnatural, restless glitter in 
 the eyes, and changed the note of the voice from 
 spontaneous vitality to recklessness. The change 
 lay deeper ; it lay in the heart and the soul of the 
 man himself. 
 
 With a sensation of doubt — of puzzled doubt and 
 inexplicable disappointment — he rose, crossed the 
 room, and, drawing the curtains over the windows, 
 shut out the dark, damp night.
 
 ITT 
 
 IT was nearly three-quarters of an hour later that 
 a tremendous bell, clanging through the house, 
 announced that dinner had been served. 
 
 A wash, a change of clothes, and a half -hour of 
 solitude had done much for Milbanke. He felt more 
 normal, less alienated by unfamiliar surroundings 
 than he had done in the first confused moments that 
 had followed his arrival. The vague sense of dis- 
 appointment and apprehension, the vague suspicion 
 that Asshlin had undergone an immense alteration 
 still tormented him — as half-apprehended evils ever 
 torment the minds of those who see and study life 
 as a thing apart from human nature — but the imme- 
 diate effect of the feeling was less poignant. He 
 unconsciously found himself anticipating the next 
 glimpse of his old friend with a touch of curiosity, 
 and when the announcement of dinner broke in u])on 
 his meditations he was surprised at the readiness 
 with which he obeyed the summons. 
 
 His first sight of the dining-room came pleasantly 
 to his senses, numbed by the long drive and the bare 
 coldness of his bedroom. It was large and lofty; 
 three long, curtained windows occupied one of its 
 walls, while from the others numerous pictures of 
 dead and gone Asshlins looked out of their canvases 
 from tarnished gold frames; the mahogany furniture, 
 though of an ugly and ungainly type, was massive ; and 
 
 13
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 over the whole room, softening its severity and 
 hiding the ravages of time, lay the warm, red glow 
 of a huge peat fire and the radiance of a dozen can- 
 dles set in heavy silver sconces. 
 
 He stood for a moment in the doorway, agreeably 
 conscious of the mingled shadow and light; then his 
 attention was attracted to two figures that already 
 occupied the room. 
 
 Asshlin himself was standing by the hearth, his 
 back to the fire, his feet apart, while by his side, in 
 evident nervous embarrassment, stood a little girl 
 of nine or ten. Instantly he saw his guest Asshlin 
 put his hand on the child's shoulder and pushed her 
 forward. 
 
 " Here's the youngest shoot on the old tree, James!" 
 he cried, with a laugh. "Shake hands with him, 
 Nance." 
 
 Somewhat uncertainly and very shyly the child 
 looked up and smiled. She was extremely pretty 
 with a gypsy-like prettiness new to Milbanke. The 
 only attribute she had inherited from her father's 
 family was the clear, olive skin that distinguished all 
 the Asshlins. Her dark-brown hair, her deep -blue 
 eyes, her peculiarly winning smile had all come to 
 her from her dead mother. 
 
 With an embarrassment almost equal to her own, 
 Milbanke extended his hand. The average modern 
 child he ignored with comfortable superiority, but 
 this small girl with her warm smile and her over- 
 whelming shyness was something infinitely more 
 difficult to deal with. He shifted his position 
 uneasily. 
 
 "How d' you do ?" he hazarded. " How d' you do — 
 Nance?" 
 
 The little brown fingers stirred nervously in his 
 
 14
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 clasp, and llie child, still smilinj^, made some totally 
 unintelligible reply. 
 
 With a boisterous laugh Asshlin ended the situation. 
 
 "Easily known you're not a father, James!" he 
 cried. "Why you'd have given her a kiss and clinch- 
 ed the business fifty seconds ago. But you're 
 starving! Where's that scamp Clo?" He turned 
 again to the little girl who had drawn nearer to him 
 for protection. 
 
 She replied, Imt in so low a tone that Milbanke 
 heard nothing. A moment later he was enlightened 
 by Asshlin's loud voice. 
 
 "Did you ever hear of a thing like that, James?" 
 he exclaimed. "What would you say to a daughter 
 who rides races on the strand in the dark of an 
 October evening, with the mist enough to give your 
 horses their death? 'Pon my word." His face 
 reddened; then suddenly he paused and laughed. 
 "After all, what's bred in the bone — eh, James?" he 
 said. "I believe I'd have done the same myself at 
 fifteen — maybe worse. Do you remember that 
 night — " He checked himself, laughed again, then 
 sighed. But, catching Milbanke's eye, he threw off 
 the momentary depression and turned once more to 
 Nance. 
 
 "Tell Hannah we won't wait any longer, like a 
 good child," he said. "There's no counting on that 
 scalawag." 
 
 As the child went quickly to the door he motioned 
 Milbanke to the table and took his own place at its 
 head. 
 
 "No ceremony here," he said. "This is Liberty 
 Hall." Taking up a decanter he poured some sherry 
 into his friend's glass; then, filling his own, drank the 
 wine with evident satisfaction. 
 
 15
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Gradual decay is what we're suffering from here, 
 James," he went on. "Everything in this country is 
 too damned old. The only things in this house 
 that have stood it are the wine and the silver. The 
 rest — the woodwork, myself, and the linen — are un- 
 sound, as you see." He laughed again with a shade 
 of sarcasm, and pointed to where a large hole in the 
 damask table-cloth was only partially concealed by 
 a splendid salt-cellar of Irish silver. 
 
 "Accumulated time is the disease we're suffering 
 from. 'Tisn t the man who uses his time in this 
 country, but the man who kills it, who's mastered the 
 art of living. Oh, we're a wonderful people, James!" 
 He slowly drained and slowly refilled his glass. 
 
 As he laid down the decanter the door opened 
 and Nance reappeared and quietly took her place 
 at table. Almost immediately she was followed by 
 Burke in a black coat and wearing a clean collar. 
 
 For a second Milbanke marvelled at the domestic ar- 
 rangements that could compress a valet, a butler, and 
 a coachman into one easy-going personality ; the next, 
 his attention was directed to two great dishes which 
 were placed respectively before his host and himself. 
 
 "Just hermit's fare, James — the product of the 
 land," Asshlin exclaimed, as Burke uncovered the 
 first dish, revealing a gigantic turkey. "Will you 
 cut yourself a shaving of ham?" 
 
 With a passing sense of impotence Milbanke gazed 
 at the great, glistening ham that had been laid before 
 him; then the healthy ai)petite that exposure to the 
 sea-air had aroused lent him courage and he picked 
 up a carving-knife. 
 
 But the execution of the ham was destined to 
 postponement. Scarcely had he straightened him- 
 self to the task than a quick bang of the outer door 
 
 i6
 
 THli GAMBLER 
 
 was followed by hasty stcjjs across tlie hall, and the 
 last member of the household appeared upon the 
 scene. 
 
 Almost before he saw her Milbanke was conscious 
 of her voice — high and clear with youthful vitality; 
 softened and rendered piquant by native intonation. 
 
 "Oh, father, such a gallop! Such fun! And 1 
 won. The bay cob was nowhere beside Polly ; 
 Larry was mad!" The string of words was poured 
 forth in irresistible excitement before she had reached 
 the door. Once inside, she paused abruptly, her 
 whole animated face flushing. 
 
 "Oh, I forgot," she said, in sudden, naive dismay. 
 
 She made a quaint picture as she stood there in 
 the light of the candles and the fire, her slight, 
 immature figure arrayed in a worn and old-fashioned 
 riding-habit, her hair covered by a boy's cloth cap, 
 her fingers clasping one of her father's heavy hunting- 
 crops. But it was neither dress nor attitude that 
 drew Milbanke's eyes from the task before him — that 
 incontinently sent his mind back thirty years to the 
 days when Denis Asshlin had seemed to stand on the 
 threshold of life and look forth, as by right divine, 
 upon the pageant of the future. There was little 
 physical likeness between the girl brimming with 
 youth and vitality and the hard, prematurely aged 
 man sitting at the head of the table; but the blood 
 that glowed in the warm, olive skin, the spirit that 
 danced and gleamed in the hazel eyes was the same 
 blood and the same spirit that had captivated Mil- 
 banke more than a quarter of a century before. 
 
 The unlooked-for sensation held him spellbound. 
 
 But almost rudely the spell was broken. Scarcely 
 
 had Clodagh's exclamation of dismay escaped her 
 
 than Asshlin broke into one of his boisterous laughs. 
 
 » 17
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Forgot, did you?" he cried. "Well, 'twas like 
 you. Come here!" He put out his hand, and as he 
 did so a sudden expression of pride and affection 
 softened his hard face. 
 
 "Here's the wildest scapegrace of an Asshlin 
 you've met yet, James," he said. 
 
 "Shake hands with him, Clo," he added, in a dif- 
 ferent voice. "He's a symbol, if you only knew it. 
 He stands for the great glory we must all leave be- 
 hind us — the glory of youth!" His voice sank sud- 
 denly to a lower key and he raised his glass. "Go 
 on, child!" he added, more quickly. "Shake hands 
 with him — tell him he's welcome." 
 
 But Clodagh's flow of speech had been silenced. 
 With a suggestion of the shyness that marked her 
 sister, she came round the table as Milbanke rose. 
 
 She made no remark as she proffered her hand, 
 and she did not smile as Nance had done. Instead, 
 her bright eyes scanned his face with a quick, ques- 
 tioning interest. 
 
 In return he looked at her clear skin, her level 
 eyebrows and proudly held head, and his awkward- 
 ness vanished as he took the slight, muscular hand 
 still cold from the night mist. 
 
 "How d' you do!" he said. "I've been hearing 
 of you." 
 
 Again Clodagh colored and glanced at her father. 
 
 "What were you telling him, father?" she asked, 
 with native curiosity. 
 
 Once more Asshlin laughed loudly. 
 
 "Listen to her, James," he said, banteringly. 
 "Her conscience is troubling her. She knows that 
 it's hard to speak well of her. Isn't that it, scamp? 
 Confess now." 
 
 Clodagh had again passed round the table, and, 
 
 i8
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 having thrown her whip and cap into a chair, had 
 seated herself without ceremony in the vacant place 
 that awaited her. 
 
 "Indeed it isn't," she replied, with immense un- 
 concern. Then an instant later she repeated her 
 question. 
 
 " What was it, father ? Can't you tell me ?" 
 
 Asshlin lifted his glass and studied the light through 
 his sherry. 
 
 "Ah, now, listen to her, James!" he exclaimed again, 
 delightedly. "And women will tell you they aren't 
 inquisitive!" 
 
 Clodagh flushed. 
 
 The little sister, seeing the flush, was suddenly 
 moved to assert herself. 
 
 "'Twasn't anything, Clo," she said, quickly. "He 
 only said you were a scalawag." Then, as all eyes 
 turned in her direction, she subsided abruptly into 
 confused silence. 
 
 "There you are again, James! Look at the way 
 they stick together! A poor man hasn't the ghost 
 of a chance when two of them join forces. One of 
 them ought to have been a boy — if only for the sake 
 of equality." He shook his head and laughed afresh, 
 while Burke deposited the last plate upon the table, 
 and dinner began in earnest. 
 
 That dinner, like his drive from Muskeere, was an 
 experience to Milbanke. More than once his eyes 
 travelled involuntarily from the candle-lit table, with 
 its suggestion of another and an earlier era, to the 
 high walls where the fire cast long shafts of ruddy 
 light and long tongues of shadow upon Asshlin's 
 ancestors, painted in garments of silk and lace, that 
 had once found a setting in this same sombre room. 
 There was something strangely analogous in these 
 
 19
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 dead men and women and their living representatives. 
 The thought recurred to him again and again as he 
 yielded to the pleasant influences of good wine and 
 wholesome food pressed upon him with unceasing 
 hospitality. It was not the first time he had pander- 
 ed to his taste for past things by comparing a man 
 with his forefathers, but the result had never proved 
 quite so profitable. In their uncommon setting, 
 Asshlin and his children would have appealed to the 
 most unobservant as uncommon types; viewed by the 
 eyes of a student, they became something more — 
 they became types of an uncommon race, of an un- 
 common class. 
 
 With the spur of the old fascination and the goad 
 of the new-born misgiving, he glanced again and yet 
 again from his host's hard, handsome features to the 
 pictures, from the pictures to the warm-colored 
 faces of the children. The study was absorbing. 
 It supplied him with an agreeable undercurrent of 
 interest while the ham and turkey were removed 
 and Asshlin with much dexterity distributed portions 
 of an immense apple-pie deluged in cream; it still 
 occupied his mind when — a whole cheese having been 
 placed upon the table and partially partaken of — 
 Burke proceeded to remove the cloth. 
 
 At the moment that the polished surface of the 
 table was laid bare his glance, temporarily distracted 
 from its study of the nearer pictures, was attracted 
 and arrested by one portrait that hung in partial 
 shadow above the carved chimney-piece. It was the 
 picture of a tall, slight boy of sixteen or seventeen 
 years, dressed in the black satin knee-breeches, the 
 diamond shoebuckles and powdered queue of a past 
 generation. 
 
 Something in the pose of this painted figure, some- 
 
 20
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 thing in the youthful face caught and held his atten- 
 tion. In unconscious scrutiny he leaned forward 
 to study the shadowed features; then Asshhn, sud- 
 denly aware of his interest, leaned across the table. 
 
 "That was what I meant, James, by saying one of 
 them should have been a boy," he said, sharply. 
 "Haven't I justification?" He nodded half earnest- 
 ly, half in mahcious humor towards the picture 
 above the fire. 
 
 For a moment Milbanke was at a loss; then all at 
 once he comprehended his host's meaning. His gaze 
 dropped from the picture to Clodagh sitting below 
 it. Above the dark riding-habit and above the satin 
 coat it seemed that the same olive skin, the same 
 level eyebrows and clear, hazel eyes confronted him. 
 
 " I see," he said, quietly. " I see. A very peculiar 
 case of family likeness." 
 
 He spoke affably, casually, in all innocence; but 
 scarcely had the words left his lips than he precipi- 
 tately wished them back. With a loud laugh, 
 Asshlin struck the table with his hand. 
 
 "Ah, good!" he exclaimed. "Good! Now, Clo, 
 what have you got to say ?" 
 
 But with a gesture quite as vehement as his own 
 the girl raised her head. 
 
 " I say that it's not true," she said. " It isn't true. 
 I'm not like him." She glanced from her father to 
 Milbanke with suddenly kindling eyes. 
 
 "I'm not like him," she repeated. "I won't be 
 like him," 
 
 Asshlin leaned back quickly in his chair. He was 
 still laughing, but a shade of temper was audible in the 
 laugh. 
 
 "Do you hear that, James?" he said. "We of the 
 present generation are altogether too good for the 
 
 21
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 past. A slip of a girl nowadays thinks herself 
 vastly superior to a great-great-grandfather who was 
 the finest horseman and the most open-handed man 
 in Munster. That's the attitude of to-day." He 
 moved aside as Burke re-entered the room and laid 
 a decanter of port and two glasses on the shining 
 mahogany table. 
 
 "My great-grandfather Anthony Asshlin," he went 
 on, deliberately, "was as fine a specimen of the Irish 
 gentleman as ever lived — I don't care who denies it. 
 Have a glass of port, James? We inherit his taste 
 in wine." 
 
 There was an awkward silence while he filled the 
 two glasses and pushed one towards his guest. 
 
 But Milbanke's ease of mind had already been up- 
 set. He held no key to the disconcerting situation, 
 and it puzzled and perplexed him as his first impres- 
 sion of his old friend had done. Both possessed 
 elements that he vaguely knew to be hidden from 
 his sight — out of focus from his present point of 
 view. For a space he sat warily fingering his glass, 
 but making no attempt to drink. Without openly 
 seeming to observe it, he was conscious of Asshlin's 
 half -humorous, half-aggressive mood, of the nervous 
 attitude of the younger girl, and of Clodagh's flushed 
 face. 
 
 To a newly arrived guest the position was strained. 
 With growing embarrassment he glanced from the 
 rich, dark wine in his glass to its reflection in the 
 polished surface of the table. Finally the awkward- 
 ness of the prolonged silence moved him to speech. 
 
 "A great-grandfather who was a judge of wine is 
 always worthy of consideration," he murmured, 
 amiably, as he lifted the glass to his lips. "I'm 
 afraid mine was a teetotaller." 
 
 22
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 But his feeble attempt at humor was not destined 
 to be successful. It drew a laugh from his host, 
 but it was a laugh that found no echo. 
 
 "You're right, James!" Asshlin cried. "By Ju- 
 piter, you're right! Anthony Asshlin was the finest 
 man in the county — and I'm proud of him." 
 
 "He was the worst man in the county — and the 
 greatest fool!" 
 
 The words, so sudden and unexpected, came from 
 Clodagh. For several seconds she had been sitting 
 absolutely still; but now she lifted her head again, 
 her flushed face glowing, her bright eyes alight with 
 the quick enthusiasm, the hot temper that she had 
 inherited from her race. With a swift movement 
 she turned from her father to Milbanke. 
 
 "Do you think it great to be a fool — and a gam- 
 bler?" she demanded. 
 
 Asshlin set down his glass noisily. 
 
 "Anthony Asshlin was no gambler," he said. 
 "He was a sportsman." 
 
 Clodagh's lip curled. 
 
 "A sportsman!" she exclaimed. "Is it sport to 
 keep game-cocks, to play cards, and throw dice? 
 To squander money that belongs to other people? 
 To mortgage your property and to — to — to kill your 
 brother?" The last words burst from her impetu- 
 ously, impulsively ; then suddenly she paused, shocked 
 by her own daring. 
 
 The silence that followed was short. With an 
 equal impetuosity Asshlin pushed back his chair and 
 rose. 
 
 " By gad, Clo, that's going too far!" he cried. " I'll 
 not hear my great-grandfather called a murderer." 
 
 "All the same he killed his brother." 
 
 " In a duel. Gentlemen had to fight in those days." 
 
 23
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Because of cards? Because they quarrelled 
 over cards?" Then, with a fresh change of expres- 
 sion, she appealed again to Milbanke. 
 
 "Do you think that's sport?" she asked. "To 
 get no good out of ordinary things ? To get no pleas- 
 ure out of dogs or horses, except the pleasure of 
 making them fight or race so that you can bet on 
 the one you think best?" She stopped breathlessly, 
 and Milbanke, desperately at a loss, gazed from one 
 angry, excited face to the other. But he was saved 
 the trouble of finding an answer, for immediately 
 Clodagh ceased to speak Asshlin's loud laugh broke 
 in again. 
 
 "Bravo!" he cried, boisterously. "All the elo- 
 quence and all the lack of logic of your sex! But 
 don't put those propositions to Milbanke; put them 
 to yourself when you've reached his age. If you 
 can't tell at fifty-five why poor human creatures play 
 and kill and make fools of themselves, you'll have 
 been a very lucky woman." For an instant his voice 
 dropped, the despondency, the restless ennui that 
 Milbanke had previously noticed falling like a shadow 
 over his anger. But the lapse was brief. With 
 another laugh and a shrug of the shoulders, he 
 turned suddenly and, crossing the room, opened the 
 door. 
 
 "Burke," he called, loudly, across the hall. " Burke, 
 bring more candles and another bottle of port — and 
 the cards." 
 
 At the words Clodagh rose. 
 
 "Father!" she exclaimed, below her breath. Then 
 her voice faltered. The involuntary note of protest 
 and appeal was checked by some other emotion. 
 With a swift moveinent she crossed the hearth, picked 
 up her whip and cap, and without another glance or 
 
 24
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 word walked out of tlic room, followed noiselessly 
 by Nance. 
 
 Asshlin continued to stand by the door until the 
 figures of his children had disappeared; then he 
 turned back into the room. 
 
 "James," he said, suddenly, "perhaps you don't 
 think it, but one hair of that child's head is more 
 precious to me than life. She's an Asshlin to the 
 tips of her fingers. She's the whole race of us in 
 one. The very way she repudiates us is proof enough 
 for any man. I tell you the whole lot of us, lock, 
 stock, and barrel, are looking at you out of her 
 eyes." Again he paused; then again he shook off his 
 passing seriousness with nervous excitability, re- 
 seating himself at the table as Burke entered. 
 
 "Ah, here we are!" he cried. "Here we are! 
 Come along, Burke, and show the light of heaven to 
 us. Now, James, for any stakes you like — and at 
 any game! What shall it be? Piquet? Or will 
 we say euchre, for the sake of the days that are dead 
 and gone? Very well. Euchre let it be — for any 
 stakes you like. It's the land of beggars, but, by 
 gad, you'll find us game! Pass me your glass for 
 another taste of port."
 
 IV 
 
 THE unpleasant sensation of moving in the dark 
 remained with Milbanke while Asshlin, still 
 noisily excited, arranged the stakes, cut for the deal, 
 and, having won the cut, distributed the cards. 
 By nature he was lethargic and placid; by habit he 
 was precise, methodical, and commonplace. The 
 advent into this new atmosphere with its inexplicable 
 suggestions and volcanic outbursts left him distressed 
 and ill at ease. He was the type of man who, in 
 every relation of life, likes to know exactly where he 
 stands. Having once satisfied himself upon that 
 point, he was usually content to follow the routine 
 of existence without trouble to those around him; 
 but until it was fully defined he was a prey to a 
 vague uneasiness. 
 
 So absorbed was he by the trend of his own specu- 
 lations that for the first five games he gave but small 
 consideration to the cards. Then, however, his host 
 jogged his attention with no uncertain hand. 
 
 Pausing in the shuffling of the cards, he glanced 
 across the table. "You're playing like an old woman, 
 James. Are your wits wool - gathering that you've 
 let me win every blessed game?" 
 
 Milbanke looked up. "Forgive me," he said, 
 hastily. "Forgive me. I was thinking — " 
 
 "Thinking that a broken-down devil of an Irishman 
 isn't high enough game to fly at?" Asshlin laughed. 
 
 26
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Well, I'll put some life into you. I'll double the 
 stakes. What do you say to that?" He leaned 
 back in his chair, balancing the pack of cards in his 
 hands. 
 
 Milbanke, with suddenly awakened observation, 
 saw that his eyes glittered with excitement and that 
 his lips were set. 
 
 "Double the stakes?" he echoed, doubtfully. "Oh 
 — certainly, if you think it will improve the game. 
 For myself I rarely play for money; I always think 
 that the cards — " 
 
 "Are sufficient in themselves, I suppose," Asshlin 
 laughed. "Don't you believe it, James. Or if you 
 do, I'll teach you better. Come along. In for a 
 penny, in for a pound! Are you agreeable ?" 
 
 For a moment Milbanke was thoughtful; then he 
 became conscious of the other's impatient glance. 
 
 "Why — why, certainly," he said. "Anything vou 
 like." 
 
 "Spoken like a man!" Asshlin impulsively threw 
 down the cards and then gathered them up again. 
 "I see the embalming process isn't completed yet. 
 The antiquarians have left a shred or two of frail 
 humanity in you. Well, we'll have it out. We'll 
 put an edge on it. Come along." He leaned for- 
 ward, the reckless brightness deepening in his eyes. 
 
 But Milbanke hesitated. "Hadn't we better 
 settle up the first score and start afresh?" he said. 
 "How do we stand?" He put his hand into his 
 pocket. 
 
 But the other waived the point. 
 
 "Is it paying at this hour of the night?" he cried. 
 "Give me a pencil and I'll jot down our difference, 
 if you're conscientious. But the balance will be on 
 the other side before the candles are burned out. 
 
 27
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 The devil forgot to bring luck to the Asshlins since 
 poor Anthony went below. But come along, man. 
 Come along. Here's to the youth of us!" He 
 drained his glass and turned again to the business 
 in hand. 
 
 During the next half-dozen games neither spoke. 
 With deep absorption Asshlin followed the run of the 
 cards. Once or twice an exclamation escaped him; 
 once or twice he paused to replenish Milbanke's 
 glass or his own; but in every other respect he had 
 eyes and thoughts for nothing but the business of the 
 moment. Milbanke, on the contrary, gambler neither 
 by instinct nor training, was infinitely more interested 
 in his opponent than in the play. 
 
 As he watched Asshlin, a score of recollections rose 
 to his mind — recollections that time and advancing 
 age had all but effaced. He recalled the numberless 
 occasions upon which the Irishman, in the exuberance 
 of youth, had sat over a gaming-table until the day- 
 light had streamed in across the scattered cards, the 
 heaped-up cigar ashes, and the emptied glasses; he 
 reviewed the rare occasions on which his cajoleries 
 had drawn him from his own mild pursuits to be a 
 sharer in these prolonged revels; and with the 
 memory came the thought of the headache, the sick 
 sense of weariness that had invariably lain in wait 
 for him the following morning. A wondering ad- 
 miration for Asshlin had always held a place in these 
 jaded after-sensations — a species of hero-worship for 
 one who could turn into bed at four in the morning 
 and emerge at nine with all the vigor and vitality of 
 the most virtuous sleeper. He had never fully 
 realized that to men of Asshlin's stamp dissipation, 
 excitement, and action are potent stimulants, calling 
 forth all the superfluous nervous energy that by 
 
 28
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 nature they possess. Wliile the tide of hfe runs high 
 about such men, they are borne forward, buoyed up 
 by their own capacity for Hving and enjoying. To 
 them existence at high pressure is a glorious, exalted 
 state, exempt from satiety or fatigue; it is the 
 quieter phases of existence — the phases that to 
 ordinary men mean rest, peace, domestic tranquillity, 
 and domestic interests — that these exuberant, ardent 
 human beings have cause to dread. 
 
 An hour passed and still the idea of a past curiously 
 reflected and curiously contradicted absorbed Mil- 
 banke's perceptions. Then gradually but decisively 
 it was borne in upon his mind that his absorption was 
 blunting his common-sense. He was playing exe- 
 crably. 
 
 It has been said that he was no gambler; but 
 neither was he a fool. With something of a shock he 
 realized that he stood a loser to the extent of seven 
 or eight pounds. With the realization he sat straight- 
 er in his chair. It was not that he grudged the 
 money. He was generous — and could afford generos- 
 ity. It was rather that that admirable quality 
 which urges the Englishman to play a losing game 
 was stirred within him. 
 
 "By Jove, Denis!" he said. "I must look to my 
 laurels. I used to play a better game than this." 
 
 Asshlin's only answer was a laugh — a laugh from 
 which all the bitterness had dropped away, leaving 
 a buoyant ring of absorption and delight. Under 
 the stimulus of excitement he had altered. He was 
 exalted, lifted above the petty discontent, the 
 pessimism, the despondency that tainted his empty 
 days. 
 
 And so for nearly two hours they played steadily; 
 then Milbanke paused and drew out his watch. 
 
 29
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 " I don't know what sort of hours you keep in 
 Ireland," he hazarded. "But it's nearly twelve 
 o'clock." 
 
 Asshlin had paused to snuff one of the candles 
 that had begun to gutter. At the other's words he 
 glanced up in undisguised surprise. 
 
 "Hours?" he repeated. "Why, any — or none at 
 all. You don't know the glory of having something 
 to sit up for." He paused for a second in a sort of 
 ecstasy. "You don't know it; you can't know it. 
 You have never felt the abomination of desolation." 
 He laughed feverishly and gathered up the cards 
 afresh. "Come, James. Your deal." 
 
 And in this manner the night wore on. In the 
 early stages of their play Asshlin's luck stuck to him 
 determinately ; but by degrees his opponent's more 
 cautious and level play began to tell and their 
 positions were gradually reversed. By one o'clock 
 Milbanke had made good his losses and even stood 
 with some trifling amount to his advantage. Here 
 again he had mildly suggested a cessation; but 
 Asshlin, more intoxicated by bad than he had been 
 by good fortune, had demanded his revenge, and 
 called loudly through the quiet house for more 
 candles and more wine. 
 
 But with the fresh round of play the luck remained 
 unaltered. Milbanke continued to win. 
 
 With a sleepy face but no expression of surprise 
 Burke resi^onded to his master's call, replenishing 
 the light and setting the port upon the table. But 
 the players scarcely noticed his entrance or departure. 
 Asshlin was playing with desperate recklessness, and 
 Milbanke, without intent or consciousness, was slowly 
 falling under the influence of his companion's excite- 
 ment. As minute succeeded minute and Asshlin sat 
 
 30
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 rigid in his seat — cutting, dealing, marking the result 
 of each game upon a strip of paper — the elder man 
 became more and more the satellite of thirty years 
 ago, less and less the placid archaeologist for whom 
 the follies of the present lie overshadowed by the 
 past. 
 
 He forgot the long journey of tlie afternoon, the 
 peculiar incidents of his arrival. A slight flush rose 
 to his usually bloodless cheeks; he found himself 
 watching the run of the cards with a species of re- 
 flected eagerness, roused to an unaccustomed elation 
 when the advantage fell to him. 
 
 At three o'clock they played the last round. And 
 it was only then, when the last card had been thrown 
 on the table and he had risen stiff from long sitting, 
 the winner of something like twenty pounds, that 
 he realized how completely he had been dominated 
 by this resurrected influence; dominated to the ex- 
 clusion of personal prejudice and even personal 
 comfort. So strong was this impression of past in- 
 fluences that he was roused to no surprise when, 
 glancing at his companion, he saw him temporarily 
 rejuvenated — his expression alert, his whole face 
 vivified by the night's excitement. 
 
 Again a touch of the old sympathy rose within 
 him. The reckless, cynical man before him was 
 momentarily effaced ; the bright personality of long 
 ago seemed to fill the room. 
 
 "Good-night, Denis." he said, gently, holding out 
 his hand. 
 
 Asshlin caught it enthusiastically. 
 
 "Good -night, James. Good - night. And once 
 more a thousand welcomes and a thousand thanks. 
 You have been a drop of water in the desert to a 
 parching man. Good-night, and pleasant dreams 
 
 31
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 to you. I'll reckon up my losses in the morning and 
 write you a check. Good-night." 
 
 Milbanke responded to the pressure of his fingers. 
 "Don't trouble about the money," he said. "Any 
 time will do. Any time. But you're turning in 
 yourself? We'll be up-stairs together?" 
 
 But Asshlin shook his head. 
 
 "Not yet," he said. "Not after this. I'll take a 
 turn across the fields and have a look at the night 
 on the water. I feel too much awake, James, to be 
 smothered by sheets and blankets. It isn't often 
 we feel life here — and the sensation is glorious." He 
 drew up his tall, powerful figure and stretched out 
 his arms. Then almost at once he let them fall to 
 his sides. 
 
 "But what moonshine this is to you, you prosaic 
 Saxon!" he exclaimed. "Let me light you to bed." 
 He laughed quickly, and, picking up one of the 
 massive candlesticks, moved towards the door. 
 
 For an instant Milbanke lingered in the dining- 
 room, grown dimmer with the departing lights; 
 then, hearing his name in his host's voice, he hurried 
 after him into the hall. 
 
 Asshlin was standing at the foot of the stairs, the 
 glowing candles held aloft. Above him the high 
 ceiling loomed shadowy and indistinct; behind him 
 the dark, wainscoted wall threw his figure into bold 
 relief. It would have demanded but a slight stretch 
 of fancy to picture him as his satin-coated grand- 
 father grown to a dissipated maturity as he stood 
 there, the master-spirit in this house of fallen great- 
 ness. As Milbanke reached his side he laughed once 
 more, precisely as Anthony Asshlin might have 
 laughed standing at the foot of the same staircase 
 more than a hundred years ago. The taint of hercd- 
 
 32
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 ity seemed to wrap him round — to gleam in his un- 
 naturally bright eyes, to reverberate in his voice. 
 
 "Up with you, James!" he cried. "I needn't put 
 your hand on the banister, like I have to do with 
 some of my guests. You never yet drank a swerve 
 into your steps. Well, I don't blame you for it. 
 It's men like you that keep heaven a going concern, 
 while poor devils like me are paving the lower regions. 
 Good-night to you!" 
 
 With a fresh laugh he thrust the great candlestick 
 into the other's hand and turned on his heel. 
 
 Milbanke remained motionless, while Asshlin passed 
 across the hall and opened the door, letting in a breath 
 of fresh, damp air that set the candle-flames dancing; 
 then, as the door closed again, he turned and put his 
 hand on the banister. 
 
 It was with a feeling of unreality, mingled with the 
 borrowed excitement still at work within him, that 
 he began his ascent of the stairs. The natural fatigue 
 consequent on the day's journey had been temporarily 
 dispelled, and sleep seemed something distant and 
 almost unattractive. As he mounted the creaking 
 steps, moving cautiously, out of consideration for 
 the sleeping household, he found himself wishing 
 incontinently that he had offered his company to 
 iiis host in his stroll towards the sea. 
 
 As the desire came to him he paused. He could 
 still overtake Asshlin! He hesitated, glancing from 
 the closed door of his bedroom to the hall lying be- 
 low him in a well of shadow. Then suddcnh^ he 
 raised his head, attracted by a sound, subdued and 
 yet distinct, that came to him through the silence of 
 the house — the sound of light, hasty steps on an tni- 
 carpeted corridor. 
 
 In the wave of surprise that swept over him he 
 3 23
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 forgot his recent excitement, his recent wish for 
 action and fresh air. Lifting the candlestick above 
 his head, he peered along the passage that stretched 
 away beyond his own door. But the scrutiny was 
 momentary. Almost at once he lowered the candles 
 and drew back, as he recognized the figure of Clodagh 
 coming towards him out of the gloom. 
 
 But if he felt embarrassment it was evident that 
 she was conscious of none. As she came within a 
 few yards of him she halted for an instant to assure 
 herself of his identity; then, her mind satisfied, she 
 stepped straight onward into the light of the six 
 candles. 
 
 "Oh, I'm so glad!" she said, quickly. "I was 
 afraid for a minute that it was father." 
 
 As she lifted her face ingenuously even Milbanke 
 — unversed in the study of women — could not fail to 
 notice, if only vaguely, the changed picture that she 
 made. She still looked extremely youthful, almost 
 childish, but now the youthfulness had a piquant 
 feminine suggestion that had been lacking earlier. 
 Down-stairs, clothed in the dark cloth habit and 
 wearing her hair closely braided, she had suggested 
 a charming and spirited boy rather than a girl who 
 would one day be a woman; here, with her thick hair 
 ruffled, her bright eyes softened by the shadows, her 
 figure wrapped in the folds of an old - fashioned 
 dressing-gown that swept voluminously round her, 
 she wore a different aspect. She was a different being 
 — possessing different characteristics, foreshadowing 
 different possibilities. 
 
 But the moment was not propitious for such 
 revelations. Milbanke, unimaginative and embar- 
 rassed, scarcely comprehended them; Clodagh herself 
 was hardly aware that they existed. Full of the 
 
 34
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 matter in hand, she gave no time to reflection, felt 
 no awkwardness on the score of unconventionality 
 either of hour or dress. 
 
 "I've been waiting up for you," she said, quickly. 
 "I couldn't go to sleep till I'd seen you." 
 
 Milbanke was still confused. Moved by an unde- 
 fined impulse, he extinguished three of the six candles. 
 
 "Indeed!" he said. "But it's very late. You 
 must — you must be tired." 
 
 He glanced uncertainly round the landing as if seek- 
 ing a chair to offer her. Then an idea struck him. 
 
 " Will you come down-stairs ?" he suggested. "The 
 fire is still alight in the dining-room. You — you 
 must be cold as well as tired." 
 
 He looked hesitatingly at her light gown. 
 
 But Clodagh shook her head. 
 
 "We mustn't go down," she said. "He might 
 come in and find us — and then we'd have a row. He 
 and I of course, I mean," she added, poHtely. 
 
 Then, as if impatient of the preamble, she plunged 
 into the subject she had at heart. 
 
 "Mr. Milbanke," she said, "will you promise me 
 not to — not to, after to-night?" 
 
 Milbanke's face looked blank. 
 
 "Not to what?" he asked. 
 
 "Oh, not to encourage him — not to play with him. 
 He's ruining himself and ruining us all. Couldn't 
 you guess it from dinner — from the quarrel we had ? 
 Oh, he's so terribly foolish, and — and I'm so fond 
 of him!" 
 
 Her voice suddenly trembled, the whole warm, 
 emotional force of her nature shining out upon him 
 fronn her eyes. 
 
 But he was laboring under the shock her revelation 
 had given him. 
 
 35
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Good Heavens!" he stammered. "I had no 
 idea — no idea of such a thing." 
 
 "No; I know you hadn't — I was sure you hadn't." 
 Her voice thrilled with quick relief. 
 
 "No, no. Certainly not. But tell me about it. 
 Dear me! Dear me! I had no idea of such a thing." 
 
 "Oh, it began ages ago — before mother died. 
 Burke says 'twas the life — the quiet life after Eng- 
 land. He came home, you know, when his father 
 died, and he found the place in a bad way. He 
 has never been rich enough to live out of the country, 
 and he has never stopped fretting for the things that 
 aren't here. But while mother lived he kept pretty 
 good ; 'twas after she died that he seemed not to care. 
 First he got gloomy and sad, then he got reckless 
 and terrible. People were frightened of him. His 
 friends began to drop away." 
 
 She paused for a moment, glancing down into the 
 hall to assure herself that all was quiet. 
 
 "It's been the same ever since. Sometimes he's 
 gloomy and depressed, other times he's wild, like to- 
 night. And when he's wild, he's mad for cards. 
 Oh, you don't know what it's like! It's like being a 
 drunkard — only different — and worse. When he's 
 like that he'd play with any one — for anything. 
 Last week he had a dreadful man — a horse-dealer 
 from Muskeere — staying here with him for three days. 
 They played cards every night — played till three or 
 four in the morning. Father lost all the ready 
 money in the house, and nearly emptied the stables." 
 
 She paused, exhausted by her earnestness — her lips 
 parted, her eager eyes scanning her listener's face. 
 
 Milbanke stood before her horrified and absorbed. 
 An understanding of many things, before obscure, 
 had come to him while she was speaking ; and with the 
 
 36
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 knowledge, a sudden deep pity for this child of his 
 old friend — a sudden sense of guilt at his own blind- 
 ness, his own weakness. 
 
 "Miss Clodagh— " he said, quickly, in his stiff, 
 formal voice. Then he paused as she raised her 
 hand with a sharp gesture of attention. 
 
 A heavy step sounded on the gravel outside the 
 house. There was an instant's hesitation ; then 
 Clodagh leaned forward with swift presence of mind 
 and blew out the three remaining candles. 
 
 "You understand now?" she whispered. 
 
 "Yes," he murmured, below his breath. "Yes; I 
 understand." 
 
 A moment later, he heard her flit down tlic corri- 
 dor, and heard Asshlin open the heavy outer door.
 
 V 
 
 THUS it was that James Milbanke entered on his 
 first night at Orristown. The surprise, the ex- 
 citement, and the culminating incident of the even- 
 ing would have been disturbing to a man of even more 
 placid temperament; and rebel as he might against 
 the weakness, he lay awake considerably longer than 
 was his wont in the uncomfortable, canopied bed, 
 listening to the numberless infinitesimal sounds that 
 break the silence of a sleeping house — from the faint, 
 occasional cracking of the furniture to the scurrying 
 of a mouse behind the plaster of the walls. Then 
 gradually, as his ears became accustomed to these 
 minor noises, another sound, unnoticed in the ac- 
 tivity of the earlier hours, obtruded itself softly but 
 persistently upon his consciousness — the subdued and 
 regular breaking of the sea on the rocks below the house. 
 A slight sense of annoyance was his first feeling, 
 for it was many years since he had vslept by the sea; 
 then quietly, lingeringly, soothingly the rhythmical 
 persistence of the sound began to tell. Imperceptibly 
 the confusing ideas of the evening became pleasantly 
 indistinct — the numberless contradictory feelings 
 blurred into one delightful sensation of indifference 
 and repose. With the salt, moist air borne to him 
 through the open window, and the great, untiring 
 lullaby of the ocean rising and falling ui:»on his senses, 
 like the purring of a gigantic cat, he fell asleep. 
 
 38
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 [lis first sensation upon wakini^ the next morning 
 was one of pleasure — the placid, unquestioning satis- 
 faction that comes to the untroubled mind with the 
 advent of a fine day. To his simple taste, the sights 
 and sounds that met his waking consciousness were 
 possessed of an unaccustomed charm. With day- 
 light the room that last night had held grim and 
 even ghostly suggestions took on a more human and 
 more friendly air. The ancient mahogany furniture 
 seemed anxious to reflect the morning sunshine; the 
 massive posts of the bed, with their drapery of faded 
 rep, no longer glowered upon the intruder. Each 
 object was bathed in, and rejuvenated by, the golden 
 warmth, the incomparable mellow radiance of sea and 
 sky that flowed in at the open window. 
 
 For a while he lay in contemplative enjoyment of 
 this early, untainted atmosphere, while the sounds 
 of the awakening day gradually rose above the soft 
 beating of the outgoing tide — falling upon his ears 
 in a pleasant, primitive medley of clacking fowls, 
 joyous, yelping dogs, and stamping horses. For 
 a space he lay still ; then the inevitable wish to take 
 active part in this world created from the darkness 
 and the silence of the night aroused him, and, slipping 
 out of bed, he drew on a dressing-gown and walked 
 to the window. 
 
 The sight that met his eyes was one of infinite 
 beauty. The delicacy — the poetry — the subtle, un- 
 namable charm that lie in the hollow of nature's 
 hand was over land and sky and sea; the warmth 
 and wealth of summer stretched before him, but 
 summer mellowed and softened by a golden autumnal 
 haze. 
 
 There are more inspiring countries than Ireland — 
 countries more richly dowered in vegetation ; coun- 
 
 39
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 tries more radiant in atmosphere and brilliant in 
 coloring; but there is no land where the hand of the 
 Maker is more poignantly felt; where the mystic 
 spirit of creation— the wonderful, tender, pathetic 
 sense of the beginning has been so strangely pre- 
 served. As Milbanke stood at the open window his 
 eyes travelled without interruption over the wide, 
 green fields — neither lawn nor meadow — that spread 
 from the house to the shore, owning no boundary 
 wall beyond the low, shelving rocks of red sandstone 
 that rose a natural barrier against the encroachments 
 of the tide. And from the fields, his gaze wandered 
 onward, drawn irresistibly and inevitably to the 
 sea itself — the watchful, tyrannical guardian of the 
 silent land. 
 
 It lay before him like a tremendous glassy lake, 
 stretching in one untroubled sweep from Orristown 
 to the point, three miles away, where the purple 
 headland of Carrigmore completed the semicircle of 
 the bay. The silence, the majesty of that sweep 
 of water was indescribable. From the rim of yellow 
 sand, which the indolent waves were lapping, to the 
 misted horizon not one sign of human life marred the 
 smoothness of its surface. Across the bay at Carrig- 
 more a few spirals of smoke rose from the cluster of 
 pink and white cottages lying under the shadow 
 of the Round Tower; on the long, sandy strand a 
 couple of bare-legged boys were leisurely raking up 
 the sea-weed that the waves had left, and slowly 
 piling it on a waiting donkey butt ; but the sea itself 
 was undisturbed. It lay as it might have lain on the 
 first day of completed creation — mystical, sublime, 
 untouched. 
 
 Milbanke was no poet, yet the scene impressed 
 him. The extraordinary sense of an immutable and 
 
 40
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 impenetrable peace before which man and man's 
 mere transitory concerns are dwarfed, if not entirely 
 eliminated, touched him vaguely. It was with a 
 tinge of something bordering upon reluctance that 
 he at last drew his eyes from the picture and began 
 to dress. 
 
 But once freed from the spell of the ocean, liis 
 mind reverted to the other interests that lay close at 
 hand. He found himself wondering how his en- 
 tertainers would appear on a second inspection; 
 whether, like his room, they would take on a more 
 commonplace semblance with the advent of daylight. 
 The touch of irrepressible and human curiosity that 
 the speculation aroused gave a spur to the business 
 of dressing ; and it was well under the twenty minutes 
 usually devoted to his neat and careful toilet when 
 he found himself crossing the corridor and descending 
 the stairs. 
 
 He encountered no one as he ])assed through the 
 hall; and catching a fresh suggestion of sunshine 
 through the door that stood hospitably o])cn, he 
 pau.sed for an instant to take a cursory glance at the 
 gravelled sweep that terminated the drive and the 
 grassy slope surmounted by a fringe of beeches that 
 formed the outlook from the front of the house. 
 Then he turned quickly and, recrossing the hall, 
 passed into the dining-room. 
 
 None of the household had yet appeared, but here 
 also the daylight had worked changes. The curtains 
 were drawn back, permitting the view of fields and 
 sea, that he had already studied from his bedroom, 
 to break uninterruptedly through the three lofty 
 windows. The effect was one of extreme airiness 
 and light; and it was quite a minute before his gaze 
 turned to the darker side of the room where the por- 
 
 41
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 trait of the famous Anthony AsshHn hung above the 
 glowing fire. 
 
 Reahzing that he was alone in the big room, he 
 crossed to the table where breakfast was already laid 
 — the remains of the enormous ham rising from an 
 untidy paper frill to defy the attacks of the largest 
 appetite. In the brilliance of the light the fineness 
 of the table-linen and its state of dilapidation were 
 both accentuated, as was the genuine beauty and 
 intrinsic value of the badly kept silver. 
 
 But Milbanke had no time to absorb these details, 
 for instantly he reached the table his eye was caught 
 by a folded slip of paper lying by his place. With a 
 touch of surprise he stooped forwaid and picked it 
 up; then a wave of annoyance, almost of guilt, suc- 
 ceeded the surprise as he realized that it was a check 
 made out in Asshlin's straggling handwriting for his 
 losses of the night before. 
 
 As he fingered it uncomfortably a vivid remem- 
 brance of his interview with Clodagh rose to his 
 mind. He thought of the poverty suggested rather 
 than expressed by the girl's words; he thought of the 
 Muskeere horse-dealer who had all but emptied the 
 stables. With a puckered brow he studied his own 
 name scrawled across the check; then, with a sense 
 of something like duplicity, he hurriedly pushed it 
 under his plate as he heard the hall-door close and 
 footsteps sound across the hall. A moment later 
 Asshlin, followed by his two daughters, entered the 
 room. 
 
 All three greeted him in turn, then Asshlin crossed 
 to the fire and proceeded to stir it to a blaze, while 
 Nance and Clodagh passed to their appointed places. 
 
 Both girls looked pleasantly in keeping with the 
 fresh morning — their rich, youthful coloring having 
 
 42
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 nothing to fear from the searching hght. Nance was 
 dressed in a very clean blue cotton frock that ac- 
 centuated the color of her eyes, but Clodagh was 
 again attired in the old - fashioned riding - habit, 
 though this time the boy's cap was absent and the 
 sunshine caught pretty reflections in her light brown 
 hair. 
 
 "I hope you don't mind my being dressed like 
 this," she said, as she took her seat. "I always have 
 a ride in the mornings, and I generally tidy up for 
 breakfast; but I'm riding a race at ten with Larry — 
 my cousin, you know — so 'twouldn't be worth while 
 to change to-day." 
 
 She spoke quite naturally, encountering Milbanke's 
 eyes with no suggestion of embarrassment for last 
 night's adventure. 
 
 He met her glance for an instant; then his own 
 wandered guiltily to the corner of the check protrud- 
 ing from under his plate. 
 
 "Not at all!" he said, hurriedly. "Not at all! I 
 hope I may be permitted to see the race." 
 
 Clodagh smiled. 
 
 "Of course, if you like," she said. " But it won't 
 be much to look at." She added this with a quick 
 glance that ineffectually attempted to gauge the 
 guest's tastes and powers of appreciation. 
 
 " 'Twill be grand!" murmured Nance, softly. 
 "And I know who's going to win." 
 
 "Nonsense!" said Clodagh. "I won in the prac- 
 tice last night, but the strand was wet, and the cob is 
 only sure on hard ground." 
 
 But, nevertheless, she flushed and threw a quick 
 look of appreciation and affection at her loyal little 
 partisan. 
 
 "What are you two chattering about?" said Assh- 
 
 43
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 lin, standing up from the fire and straightening his 
 shoulders. "Is that your notion of hospitahty — to 
 keep a stranger waiting for his breakfast? Faith, 
 we knew better in the old days — eh, James?" 
 
 He laughed and passed round the table. 
 
 Clodagh presided at the old-fashioned silver urn; 
 and either her confidences of the night before or the 
 prospect of her coming contest affected her, for she 
 forgot the diffidence that had marked her at the 
 dinner of the preceding evening, and talked brightly 
 and with interest on a variety of subjects. Finally, 
 as she handed Milbanke his second cup of tea, she 
 touched upon the object of his visit. 
 
 " 'Twas to see the ruins of Carrigmore, not us, that 
 you came, wasn't it?" she said, with a shade of 
 humor. 
 
 He returned her glance seriously. 
 
 "Oh no," he said. "At least—" 
 
 "Ah, now you've let it out!" she exclaimed, with 
 a laugh. "I knew it. I said so. Didn't I, Nance? 
 I knew no one would come here just to see us." 
 
 Asshlin laughed. 
 
 " 'Pon my soul," he cried, "yoii haven't learned 
 your market value yet, Clo! If I were a girl I'm 
 hanged if I'd rate myself lower than a fourth-century 
 ruin." 
 
 He laughed afresh. 
 
 But Clodagh displayed no embarrassment. She 
 was too unversed in the ways of coquetry to see or 
 resent the point of the remark. 
 
 "I ?" she said, naively. "What have I to do with 
 it.^" 
 
 After this there was a trifling silence, at the end of 
 which Asshlin looked quickly at his guest. 
 
 "By -the -way, James," he exclaimed, "we were 
 
 44
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 too well amused last night to look ahead. I never 
 thought of asking you about to-day. Have you 
 any pet plans or schemes ? Is it to be a pilgrimage 
 to St. Galen ? Or what do you say to a day in the 
 saddle? There's a meet not five miles away; and if 
 a good gallop pleases you, I have as neat a little 
 horse for you as ever carried a saddle. What do you 
 say? Of course, if you think the Round Tower is 
 likely to collapse or be demolished by a tidal wave, 
 I won't raise a finger; but — " 
 
 Milbanke laughed. 
 
 "My dear Denis," he said, quickly, "don't you 
 trouble on my account." He glanced deprecatingly 
 over Asshlin's sporting attire. "Don't you trouble 
 about me. I never was a sportsman, as you know. 
 I'll go to my own hunting, and you go to yours. 
 Don't let me interfere with any plans you may have 
 formed. I enjoy a solitary excursion." 
 
 But Asshlin's face darkened. 
 
 "Oh no," he objected, after a short pause. "Oh 
 no. If you're not game for it, then the meet is ofE 
 so far as I'm concerned. I can't have you roaming 
 about the country by yourself. Oh no; I hope I 
 remember my obligations." 
 
 Milbanke looked distressed. With a genuine feel- 
 ing of embarrassment he turned from one face to the 
 other. 
 
 "My dear Denis,", he objected, feebly, "I must 
 really beg of ^'•ou — " 
 
 "Not another word! Not another word!" Assh- 
 lin ostentatiously helped himself to some ham. "I 
 hope, James, that whatever our environments we 
 still understand the traditions of hospitality. If you 
 don't feel on for it, there's no hunting for me to-day." 
 
 After this there was another unpleasant pause. 
 
 45
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Asshlin attempted to hide his chagrin, but his face 
 was unmistakably dark with disappointment. 
 
 For a space Milbanke toyed with his breakfast, 
 then he spoke again. 
 
 " But, my dear Denis, if you will only allow me," he 
 ventured. 
 
 But before Asshlin could reply, Clodagh's voice 
 broke in. 
 
 "Oh, you needn't bother so much, father," she 
 said, easily. "You go to the meet and I'll take Mr. 
 Milbanke to Carrigmore. I'll drive him over in the 
 pony trap, or we'll walk — whichever he likes best." 
 
 She spoke fluently and gayly, and it was difficult 
 for Milbanke to reconcile the high, buoyant tones of 
 her voice with the serious note struck by her the night 
 before. Filled with relief, however, at her timely in- 
 terruption, he was satisfied to let the discrepancy go 
 unregarded. 
 
 "Excellent!" he cried. "An excellent idea, Miss 
 Clodagh! Here's your difficulty solved, Denis. Your 
 Irish sense of chivalry won't allow you to deprive 
 me of so charming a guide." 
 
 Clodagh laughed frankly at the stilted compliment, 
 and Asshlin's face brightened perceptibly. 
 
 "Oh, well, as you're so amiable," he said, mag- 
 nanimously, "I don't mind admitting that 'twould 
 have been a bit of a sacrifice to give up the hunt. 
 Though if I hadn't been overruled by the majority 
 I'd have swallowed the ruins without a grimace." 
 
 He laughed with restored good-humor, and turned 
 to his daughters. 
 
 "When you've done breakfast, Clo," he said, "run 
 round to the stables and tell Burke he need only 
 saddle the bay." 
 
 With the decision that he was, after all, to enjoy 
 
 46
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 his day's sport his spirits had risen ; and despite the 
 fact that the dayhght revealed many evidences of hist 
 nii^ht's dissipation that woukl have been invisible 
 thirty years ago, Milbanke was pleased and reassured 
 by his appearance. His movements were energetic, 
 his expression alert. He suggested one who is in- 
 terested and attracted by life; and the elder man was 
 too unimaginative — too single of purpose in his own 
 concerns — to suspect that the energy, the alert sug- 
 gestion of anticipation were due to his own presence 
 in the house — to the promise of excitement and 
 diversion that that presence offered. 
 
 With the definite arrangement of the day's plans, 
 a fresh energy had descended on the party, and but a 
 few minutes passed before Clodagh and Nance rose 
 from the table and left the room. Then, as the two 
 men were left alone, Milbanke put into action the 
 resolution that had been gradually maturing in his 
 mind. 
 
 Not without a certain trepidation — not without an 
 embarrassed distaste for the task — he bent forward 
 in his precise manner, and, drawing the check from 
 beneath his plate, began to smooth it out. 
 
 "Denis," he said, "I found this on my plate when 
 I came down-stairs." 
 
 Asshlin looked up hastily and laughed. He had 
 all the Irishman's distaste to money as a topic of 
 conversation. He was as sensitive in the offering of 
 it to another as in the accepting of it for himself. 
 
 "Oh, that's all right!" he said, quickly. "Not 
 another word about that, James — not another 
 syllable." 
 
 But Milbanke continued to toy with the check. 
 
 "Denis," he began again, a shade of nervousness 
 audible in his voice, " I am tmcertain how to say what 
 
 47
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 I want to say. I am extremely anxious not to 
 offend you, and yet I feel — I fear that you may take 
 offence." 
 
 Before replying, Asshlin drained the cup of strong 
 tea that stood beside his plate; then he glanced 
 again at his companion. 
 
 "What in thunder are you driving at?" he asked, 
 good-humoredly. 
 
 Milbanke scrutinized the check afresh. 
 
 "That's what I want to explain," he answered, 
 without raising his head. "And you must not allow 
 it to offend you. I want you, for the sake of old 
 friendship, to let me tear this check up. I was 
 excited last night ; I infringed on one of my set rules 
 — that of never playing cards for high stakes. It 
 is for my own sake that I ask permission to do this. 
 It — it will put me right with myself." 
 
 He laughed deprecatingly. 
 
 For a second there was no indication that his 
 labored explanation had been even heard; then, with 
 alarming suddenness, Asshlin brought his hand down 
 upon the table, ripping out an oath. 
 
 " And where the devil do I come in ?" he demanded. 
 "Is it because you see the place going to rack and 
 ruin that you think you can insult me in my own 
 house? I'd have you to know that when an Asshlin 
 needs charity, he will ask for it." In the spasm 
 of rage that had attacked him, his eyes blazed and 
 the veins in his forehead swelled. Then suddenly 
 catching a glimpse of the consternation on his guest's 
 face, he controlled himself by an effort, and with a 
 loud laugh pushed back his chair and rose. "For- 
 give me, James," he said, roughly. "You don't 
 understand — you never did tmderstand. It's the 
 cursed pride of a cursed country. The less we have 
 
 48
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 to 1)0 i)rou(l of, the more damned proud we arc. 
 We have a sense of humor for everything in creation 
 except ourselves." Again he laughed harshly; then 
 again his mood changed. "James," he said, seri- 
 ously, "put that check back in your pocket, and 
 if you value my friendship never mention it again. 
 We may be a bad lot; we may be all Clo says of 
 us — fools, rakes, spendthrifts — but no Asshlin ever 
 shirked his debts of honor." The words were bom- 
 bastic, the sentiment false, but the natural dignity 
 and distinction of the man — dissipated failure though 
 he might be — were unmistakable, as he stood with 
 high head and erect figure. 
 
 By the ironic injustice of such circumstances Mil- 
 banke — honest, prosaic, incapable of a dishonorable 
 action — felt suddenly humiliated. With shamefaced 
 haste he muttered an apology and thrust the check 
 into his pocket. 
 
 At the moment that he did so Clodagh re-entered 
 the room. 
 
 "It's all right, father!" she exclaimed. "The bay 
 will be round in a second. And Larry has come. 
 Are you ready, Mr. Milbanke?". 
 
 He responded with instant alacrity. It was the 
 second time that morning that she had unconsciously 
 come to his relief. 
 
 "Oh, quite," he said. "Quite ready. Shall we 
 start?" 
 
 "This minute, if you like. Good-bye, father! I 
 hope 'twill be a good run. She crossed the room 
 quickly, then paused at the door. "Remember, the 
 race will be nothing at all worth seeing," she added, 
 glancing back over her shoulder at the guest.
 
 VI 
 
 WITHOUT ceremony or apology Clodagh led 
 Milbanke to the stables by the shortest route, 
 which entailed the traversing of several long and 
 windy passages and the crossing of the great, draughty 
 kitchen where Hannah — the housekeeper, cook and 
 general mainstay of the establishment- — held undis- 
 puted sway. 
 
 As they entered her domain she was standing by 
 an open window engaged on the cleaning of a sauce- 
 pan, an operation to which she brought an astonish- 
 ing amount of noisy energy. At sight of the stranger 
 she dropped the knife she was holding and made a 
 furtive attempt to straighten her ample and some- 
 what dirty apron. 
 
 "Ah, wisha. Miss Olodagh," she began, in a voice 
 that trembled between chagrin and an inherent sense 
 of hospitality, "isn't that a quare thing for you to 
 be doin' now — to be bringin' the gintleman down 
 here — an' me in the middle of me pots? Not but 
 what you're welcome, sir — though 'tis no fit place 
 for you," she added, with a glance that summed the 
 intruder up from head to heel. 
 
 Milbanke laughed a little awkwardly. 
 
 "So long as you make no objection," he said, with 
 amiable haste, " I see nothing to find fault with." 
 
 But Hannah gave an incredulous shake of her head. 
 "Ah, you do be sayin' that," she replied, sagely. 
 
 50
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "But 'tis a quare place you'll be findin' Orristown 
 after England, I'm thinkin'." She added this in a 
 persuasive tone, making a tentative cast for the 
 stranger's sentiments. 
 
 But before the fish could rise to her bait her atten- 
 tion was claimed in another direction. A pellet of 
 mud, aimed with extreme accuracy, came flying 
 through the open window and hit her on the cheek. 
 
 Milkanke glanced round quickly ; Clodagh laughed ; 
 and the victim of the assault gave a gasp, pushed 
 her saucepans aside, and thrust her head through the 
 window. 
 
 "Wait till 1 catch you, Masther Larry!" she cried 
 across the yard. " How can I be doin' the work of six 
 women and three men with the likes of you trapesin' 
 about? 'Pon my word, I'll tell on you — I'll tell 
 your uncle on you. Long threatenin' comes at last!" 
 
 But the only response that greeted her was a 
 smothered laugh from the stables opposite, a laugh 
 which Clodagh involuntarily echoed. 
 
 Instantly Hannah wheeled round from the window. 
 
 "Ah, Miss Clodagh; isn't it a shame for you?" she 
 exclaimed, tremulously. "Isn't it a shame for you 
 now to be encouragin' that brat of a boy? Sure 'tis 
 the third time he thrun his marbles of mud at me 
 this mornin'. So signs, I'll spake to the masther. 
 I will so." 
 
 She gave her apron a defiant tug. 
 
 Milbanke stood, uncertain and embarrassed, ner- 
 vously curious as to what Clodagh's next move 
 would be. With a certain misgiving he saw her face 
 brim over with delight; then, with a sense of complete 
 amazement, he saw her step suddenly to the side of the 
 indignant Hannah, throw one arm impulsively roitnd 
 her neck, and give her a hasty kiss. 
 
 51
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Indeed you won't speak to him, Hannah — and 
 you know you won't," she said, in her most beguihng 
 tones. "And you'll make a griddle-cake for lunch — 
 just to show you aren't angry. Come on, Mr. Mil- 
 banke. Larry is waiting." 
 
 As they crossed the kitchen, Hannah defiantly 
 passed the corner of her apron across her eyes and 
 ostentatiously resumed her interrupted work. 
 
 At the door Clodagh looked back. 
 
 "Hannah!" she said, persuasively. 
 
 Hannah began to scrape her saucepan. 
 
 "Go on wid you now. Miss Clodagh," she cried. 
 "Sure 'tis a pair of ye that's there. I'm out wid ye." 
 
 "But the griddle-cake, Hannah?" 
 
 "Let Betsy over at Mrs. Asshlin's make griddle- 
 cake for ye. Maybe she wouldn't put up wid Masther 
 Larry as aisy as me." 
 
 " Of course Betsy would make a griddle-cake at any 
 time," said Clodagh, promptly, "only we couldn't 
 eat it — after yours." 
 
 For a moment Hannah made no response ; then she 
 gave another disdainful whisk to her apron and 
 attacked the saucepan with renewed force. 
 
 Clodagh said nothing but took a step forward. 
 Her cheeks were bright and her eyes danced with 
 mischief and amusement. As her foot touched the 
 paving-stones of the yard, Hannah raised her head. 
 
 "I suppose 'twill be at wan ye'll be wantin' the 
 lunch?" she said, in a suddenly lowered and mollified 
 voice, and Clodagh responded with a laugh of triumph 
 and delight. 
 
 Outside in the sunshine of the yard, she laughed 
 again . 
 
 "Hannah is an old duck," she said. "She is 
 always getting as cross as two sticks, and then 
 
 52
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 forgetting all about it. Nobody could help teasing 
 her. But Where's Larry gone to ? Larry! Larry!" 
 
 There was a pause, a stamping of horse's hoofs, and 
 the sound of a voice whispering affectionate injunc- 
 tions to an unseen animal; then young Laurence 
 Asshlin emerged from the stables, leading his chestnut 
 cob. 
 
 He was a well-made, long-limbed boy of fourteen, 
 with skin as smooth and eyes as clear as Clodagh's 
 own. 
 
 " Hullo, Clo!" he exclaimed. "That was a straight 
 shot, wasn't it? Was she mad?" 
 
 "Pretty mad," responded Clodagh. "This is Mr. 
 Milbanke. He came last night." 
 
 Young Asshlin eyed the stranger frankly and with- 
 out embarrassment. 
 
 "You're not at the meet ?" he said, with involuntary 
 surprise. "I'd be there, only mother doesn't let me 
 hunt yet. She thinks I'd break my neck or some- 
 thing," he laughed. "But I'll go to every meet 
 within twenty miles when I'm a man," he added. 
 "There's nothing as good as hunting — except sailing. 
 Are you much of a sailor?" 
 
 Milbanke looked back into the bright, fearless eyes 
 and healthy, spirited face, and again a touch of 
 aloofness — of age — damped him. There was a buoy- 
 ancy in this boy and girl — a zest, an enthusiasm out- 
 side which he stood the undeniable alien. 
 
 "Yes, I am fond of the sea," he responded; "but 
 probably not as you are fond of it." 
 
 Try as he might to be natural and pleasant, his 
 speech sounded stilted, his words staid. 
 
 The boy looked at him doubtfully. 
 
 "Didn't know there were two ways of doing it," 
 he said, nibbing his face against the cob's sleek neck. 
 
 S3
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 But Clodagh came to her guest's rescue. 
 
 "Larry doesn't deserve any credit for liking the 
 sea," she said. "His father was a sailor. You go 
 on to the fields, Larry," she added; "you'll find Nance 
 waiting there. I'll saddle Polly in a second, and be 
 after you with Mr. Milbanke. Run now; you're only 
 wasting time." 
 
 Larry hesitated for a moment, then he nodded. 
 
 "All right," he acquiesced. " Only don't be long." 
 
 Instantly he was gone, Clodagh handed her whip 
 to Milbanke and darted into the coach-house, re- 
 appearing with a saddle over her arm and a bridle 
 swinging from her shoulder. 
 
 "You are not going to saddle the horse yourself?" 
 he exclaimed, in consternation. "Let me call one 
 of the men! Please let me call one of the men!" 
 
 Clodagh laughed. 
 
 "There's no one to call," she said. "Burke is the 
 only proper man-servant we keep, and he drove into 
 Muskeere for provisions as soon as he brought the 
 bay round for father. You don't think I'd let any 
 of the laborers touch the horses!" As she said this 
 she laughed again, and, nodding gayly, passed into 
 one of the stalls. 
 
 After she had disappeared Milbanke stood silent, 
 listening with an uncomfortable embarrassment to 
 the soft whinnying of the horse, the soft murmuring 
 of Clodagh's voice, the straining and creaking of 
 leather that reached his ears. At last, yielding to 
 his instincts, he stepped forward and spoke again. 
 
 "Miss Clodagh, let me help you," he said. "I'm 
 afraid I'm rather useless, but you might let me try." 
 
 Again Clodagh's soft, humorous laugh answered 
 him. 
 
 "It's done now," she said. "And, anyway, I've 
 
 54
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 known how to saddle a horse since I was twelve. 
 Stand back a little, please!" 
 
 He drew back hastily, and she led out a small 
 gray mare. 
 
 "She isn't much to look at," she explained, "but 
 she's grand to go — and I know she's going to win. 
 She must win." 
 
 She kissed the animal impulsively on the soft, 
 quivering nostril. 
 
 Together they threaded their way between the 
 scurrying fowls and innumerable dogs that filled 
 the yard, Clodagh leading the mare, Milbanke keep- 
 ing close to her side. 
 
 "What is this race for?" he asked, as they passed 
 through the arched gateway. "A mere trial of 
 strength?" 
 
 Clodagh's eyes widened. 
 
 "Oh no," she said, "that would be silly. There 
 are stakes, of course — Larry's telescope against my 
 Irish terrier. The telescope belonged to Uncle Lau- 
 rence and is a beauty; but it's nothing at all to Mick. 
 Mick is a pedigree dog, six months old, with the finest 
 coat and the loveliest head vou ever saw. If I lost 
 him — " But here she stopped. " It's unlucky to say 
 that, isn't it?" she added, quietly. "Of course I'm 
 not going to lose him." 
 
 Again she turned and fondled the mare, and a mo- 
 ment later they came into view of the long, level fields 
 that lay between the house and the sea, and saw the 
 erect figure of Larry clearly silhouetted against the sky 
 as he sat his cob with the ease of the born horseman. 
 
 It took Milbanke but a few minutes to place himself 
 in a safe and advantageous position on a ditch that, 
 dividing two of the fields, was to form the last jump 
 of the race; and once ensconced in this pleasant and 
 
 55
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 not uncomfortable seat, he watched the cousins move 
 across the fields to the point where little Nance was 
 waiting to arrange the preliminaries. He saw Clodagh 
 mount the gray mare, observed the one or two in- 
 evitable false starts, then became conscious with a 
 quickening of interest that the race had begun. 
 
 Had he been possessed of the humorous quality he 
 would undoubtedly have been drawn into a smile at 
 his own position; as it was, he saw nothing ludicrous 
 in the idea of an elderly student seated on an Irish 
 ditch playing umpire to a couple of children. As 
 the horses started, he merely settled himself more 
 securely in his seat, and drew out his handkerchief 
 in obedience to the instinct that some expression of 
 enthusiasm would be demanded by the winner. He 
 could not picture himself raising a cheer as the 
 conqueror sailed past him; but his dignity atTably 
 bent to the idea of a friendly wave of a handkerchief. 
 
 A slight breeze was blowing in from the sea, and 
 the intense freshness of the atmosphere again ob- 
 truded itself upon him as he watched the horses swing 
 towards him across the fields, the thud of their hoofs 
 upon the grass gaining in volume with every stride. 
 
 For a space they galloped neck to neck ; then slowly, 
 almost imperceptibly, Clodagh drew away. For a 
 couple of seconds the distance between the animals 
 became noticeable; then young Asshlin urging the 
 chestnut, regained his lost position, and to Milbanke's 
 eyes the two were again abreast as they crossed the 
 last field. 
 
 Once more he settled himself in his place of van- 
 tage. Something in the freshness of the morning, 
 something in the youtli and vitality of the com- 
 petitors gave the race an interest and attraction it 
 would otherwise have lacked. With a reluctant 
 
 56
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 sensation — half curiosity, half the alien's unaccount- 
 able attraction towards conditions of life other 
 than his own — he found himself straining his eyes 
 towards the two slight figures moving towards him 
 across the short grass. Nearer and nearer they came, 
 maintaining their level positions; then, as the last 
 ditch came clearly into view, the gray mare seemed to 
 gather herself together for the short, final gallop and 
 the jump. Leaning forward, he saw Clodagh straight- 
 en herself in the saddle as each stride increased the 
 advantage she had gained. 
 
 Unconsciously — with the nearer pounding of the 
 hoofs — the excitement of the moment touched him. 
 But it touched him with disastrous results. As the 
 mare neared the ditch he suddenly leaned forward, 
 losing the balance he had so carefully preserved. 
 
 The action was instantaneous, and it was but the 
 work of another instant to grasp the sturdy weeds 
 that topped the ditch and regain his position; but 
 unwittingly the harmless incident had changed the 
 result of the race. As he involuntarily steadied him- 
 self, the handkerchief held in readiness for the 
 victor slipped from his hand and fluttered down 
 upon the grass. 
 
 It fell at the feet of the gray mare. She paused in 
 sudden alarm, then hunched herself together and 
 shied away from it as froin a ghost. 
 
 No harm was done. Clodagh kept her seat with- 
 out a tremor; but in that second of lost time the 
 cob drew level with his rival, then sailed triumphantly 
 over the ditch. 
 
 For Milbanke there was a moment of horrible 
 suspense, and a succeeding relief that drove all 
 thottght of the race and its result far from his mind. 
 Immediately the held was clear, he scrambled from 
 
 57
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 his position and hurried to where Clodagh was sooth- 
 ing the still frightened Polly. 
 
 "Miss Clodagh," he began, "I am so sorry. I 
 assure you it — it was not my fault." 
 
 Clodagh was bending low over the mare's neck, 
 her flushed face partially hidden. She made no 
 reply to his confused and stammering speech. 
 
 "Miss Clodagh," he began afresh, "you are not 
 angry ? You don't think it was my favilt ?" 
 
 Clodagh laughed a little tremulously. 
 
 "Of course not," she said. "How can you be so 
 silly? I hadn't her properly in hand, that was all." 
 
 As she finished young Asshlin cantered back, 
 halting on the farther side of the ditch. His face 
 was also flushed and his eyes looked dark. 
 
 "Look here," he said, eying Milbanke. "What 
 did you mean by balking her like that ? What were 
 you doing with your beastly handkerchief? 'Twas 
 no race, Clo," he added. 
 
 But Clodagh looked up. 
 
 "Oh yes, it was," she said. "It was all my own 
 fault; I hadn't Polly in hand. I should have pulled 
 her together and sent her over with a touch of the 
 whip. Apologize, Larry. 'Twas a fair race." 
 
 But Larry still hesitated, his glance straying doubt- 
 fully from one face to the other. 
 
 "Honor bright, Clo?" he asked at last. 
 
 Clodagh nodded. 
 
 "Then I'm sorry, sir," he said, frankly, "for saying 
 what I said." 
 
 Milbanke made a murmur of forgiveness; and a 
 moment later Nance appeared upon the scene, breath- 
 less and full of curiosity. As Larry entered upon a 
 voluble account of the finish in reply to her eager 
 questions, Clodagh wheeled the mare round and 
 
 5S
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 trotted quickly across the fields in the direction of 
 the house. 
 
 For a moment or two Milbanke stood irresolute; 
 then a sudden impulse to follow the mare and her 
 rider seized him, and, ignoring Nance and Larry — 
 still absorbed in heated explanation — he took his way 
 slowly across the green and springy turf. 
 
 His crossing of the fields was measured and me- 
 thodical, and he had barely come within sight of the 
 arched gateway of the yard when Clodagh reap- 
 peared — this time on foot. The tail of her habit was 
 tucked under one arm, the struggling form of an 
 Irish terrier was held firmly under the other. 
 
 She came straight forward in his direction, and, 
 reaching him, would have passed on without speak- 
 ing. But he halted in front of her. 
 
 "Miss Clodagh," he said, "you are hurt and disap- 
 pointed." 
 
 Clodagh averted her eyes. 
 
 "I'm not," she said, shortly. 
 
 "But I see that you are." 
 
 "No, I'm not." 
 
 "Miss Clodagh, you are. Can't I do something?" 
 
 Then at last she looked at him. Her cheeks were 
 burning and her eyes were brimming with tears that 
 only pride held back. 
 
 "It isn't the old race," she said, defiantly. "It's 
 — it's Mick." Two tears suddenly welled over and 
 dropped on the red head of the dog, who responded 
 with an adoring look from his beautiful eyes and a 
 wild attempt to lick her face. 
 
 "Oh, I've had him since he was six weeks old," she 
 cried, impulsively. "I reared him and trained him 
 myself. He knows every word I say." 
 
 Milbanke suddenly looked relieved. 
 
 59
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Is that all?" he exclaimed, cheerfully. "Is that 
 all ? We'll soon put that right. Keep your dog. 
 I'll settle matters with your cousin." He glanced 
 back across the fields to where Larry was walking 
 the cob to and fro. 
 
 But Clodagh's face expressed intense surprise. 
 
 "But you don't understand," she said. "Mick 
 was the stake. 'Twas a fair race and Larry won. 
 Mick is — is Larry's now." 
 
 He laughed a little. 
 
 "Oh, nonsensel You raced for fun." 
 
 "Yes, for the best fun we could get," she said, 
 seriously. "That's why we staked what we cared 
 most about. Don't you understand?" 
 
 For the moment her grief was merged in her un- 
 affected surprise at his lack of comprehension. 
 
 But Milbanke was staring at her interestedly. The 
 scene at the breakfast-table, and with it Asshlin's 
 offended pride and ridiculous dignity, had risen before 
 him with her soft, surprised tone, her wide, incredulous 
 gaze. With total unconsciousness she was voicing 
 the sentiments of her race. An Asshlin might 
 neglect everything else in the world, but his debts of 
 honor were sacred things. 
 
 He looked more closely at the pretty, distressed 
 face, at the brimming eyes and the resolutely set lips. 
 
 "And simply because you staked him," he said, 
 "you intend to lose the dog?" 
 
 Clodagh caught her breath and a fresh tear fell on 
 Mick's head ; then with a defiant lifting of the chin she 
 started forward across the field. 
 
 " 'Twas a fair race," she said, in an unsteady voice.
 
 VII 
 
 WHATEVER Clodagh may have felt upon the 
 subject, she made no further allusion to the loss 
 of her dog. 
 
 An hour after the race Milbanke, standing at his 
 bedroom widow, caught a glimpse of Larry riding 
 slowly across the fields towards the avenue with the 
 evidently unwilling Mick held securely under his arm; 
 and a few minutes afterwards a noisy bell clanging 
 through the house informed him that luncheon had 
 been served. 
 
 The two girls were already in the dining-room when 
 he entered. Clodagh had changed her riding-habit for 
 a neat holland dress, her hair was smoothly plaited, 
 and only a lingering trace of the morning's excite- 
 ment burned in her cheeks. 
 
 As the guest entered she came forward at once and 
 pointed to his chair with a pretty touch of gracious 
 hospitality. 
 
 "Where is your cousin?" he said, as he responded 
 to her gesture. 
 
 She flushed momentarily. 
 
 " Gone," she answered, laconically. Then, conscious 
 that the reply was curt, she made haste to amend it. 
 "He's gone home to lunch," she said. "Aunt Fan 
 wanted him back. She's a great invalid and always 
 worrying about him. I suppose invalids are never 
 like other people. Will you please help yourself?" 
 
 6i
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 She smiled and indicated a steaming stew — sufficient 
 to feed ten hungry people — that Hannah, acting 
 in Burke's absence, had planted heavily upon the 
 table. 
 
 "We always begin lunch with meat," Clodagh ex- 
 plained; "but we always finish up with tea and 
 whatever Hannah will make for us to eat. If you 
 stay long enough you'll be able to tell all Hannah's 
 tempers by what we get at lunch. When she's 
 terribly cross we have bread and jam; when she's 
 middling we get soda bread; but when she's really 
 and truly nice we have currant-loaf or griddle-cake!" 
 
 She glanced round mischievously at the red face 
 of the factotum. 
 
 Hannah, who had been wavering between offence 
 and amusement, suddenly succumbed to the look. 
 
 " Sure 'tis a quare notion you'll be givin' him of the 
 place," she said, amicably joining in the conversation 
 without a shade of embarrassment. "If I was you, 
 faith, I wouldn't be tellin' a gintleman that I laves 
 the whole work of the house to wan poor ould woman, 
 an' goes gallivantin' over the country mornin', noon 
 an' night, instead of learnin' meself to be a good 
 housekeeper. So signs, 'tis Miss Nance that '11 find 
 the husband first." With a knowing glance at Mil- 
 banke and a shake of the head she left the room, 
 banging the door behind her. 
 
 Clodagh laughed. The insinuation in Hannah's 
 words and look passed unnoticed by her. She swept 
 them aside unconcernedly and proceeded with an 
 inborn tact — an inborn sense of the responsibilities 
 of her position, to fill her role of hostess and entertain 
 her guest. 
 
 So successful was she in this new aspect, that 
 Milbanke found himself thawing — even growing com- 
 
 62
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 municative under her influence as the meal progressed. 
 Long before the appetizing griddle - cake and the 
 hpavy silver teapot had been laid upon the table he 
 had begun to feel at home; to meet Nance's shy, 
 friendly smiles without embarrassment; to talk with 
 freedom and naturalness of his small, personal am- 
 bitions, his own unimportant, individual researches 
 in his pet study of antiquity. 
 
 A reticent man — when once his reticence has been 
 broken down — makes as egotistical a confidant as 
 any other. Before they rose from table, he had 
 been beguiled into forgetting that the Celtic zeal for 
 the entertainment of a guest may sometimes be mis- 
 taken for something more; that Irish children — with 
 their natural kinship to sun and rain, dogs and horses, 
 men and women — may assume, but cannot possibly 
 feel, an interest in monuments of wood or stone no 
 matter how historic or how unique. 
 
 This erroneous impression remained with him until 
 the time arrived for Clodagh to pilot him to Carrig- 
 more; and filled with the knowledge of having a 
 sympathetic listener, he harked back to his earliest 
 experiences while he covered the two miles of finn, 
 yellow sand, with his young hostess walking sedately 
 beside him, and half a dozen dogs — setters, retrievers, 
 and sharpnosed terriers — careering about him in a 
 joyous band. He entered upon minute and technical 
 details of every archaeological discoverv of the past 
 decade; he recounted his personal opinion of each; 
 he even unbent to the extent of relating a dry anec- 
 dote or two during that delightful walk in the mellow 
 warmth of the afternoon. It was onlv when the 
 long curve of the strand had at last been traversed 
 and the rocks of Orristown left far behind, that 
 discoveries, opinions, and stories alike faded from
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 his mind in the nearer interest of the Carrigniore 
 ruins. 
 
 Even to the pleasure-seeker there is something 
 symboHc and imposing in the tall, gray, symmetrical 
 tower that tops the hill above Carrigmore and faces 
 the great sweep of the Atlantic Ocean ; something in- 
 finitely ancient and impressive in the crumbling 
 ruins of the church from whose walls the rudely 
 carved figures look down to-day as they looked down 
 in primitive Christian times, when Carrigmore was a 
 centre of learning and its tower a beacon to the 
 world of faith. To Milbanke — a student of such 
 things — they were a revelation. 
 
 He scarcely spoke as he climbed the steep hill and 
 entered the grass-grown church-yard ; and once within 
 the precincts of the ruin all considerations save the 
 consideration of the moment faded from his thoughts. 
 With the mild enthusiasm that his hobby always 
 awoke in him, he set about a minute examination of 
 the ruins, hurriedly unstrapping the satchel in which 
 he carried his antiquarian's paraphernalia. 
 
 During the first half-hour Clodagh sat dutifully on 
 one of the graves, alternately plaiting grasses and 
 admonishing or petting her dogs; then her long- 
 tried patience gave out. With a sudden imperative 
 need of action she rose, shook the grasses from her 
 skirt, and, picking her way between the half -buried 
 head-stones, reached Milbanke's side. 
 
 "Mr. Milbanke," she said, frankly, "would you 
 mind very much if I went away and came back for 
 you in an hour? You see the ruins aren't quite so 
 new to me as they are to you — ])eople say they've 
 been here since the fourth century." 
 
 She laughed and called to the dogs. 
 
 But Milbanke scarcely heard the laugh. There 
 
 64
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 was a flush of delight on his thin cheeks as he peered 
 through his magnifying-glass into one of the carved 
 stones. He waited a moment before replying; then 
 he answered with bent head. 
 
 "Certainly, Miss Clodagh," he said, abstractedly. 
 "Certainly. By all means. But make it two hours, 
 I beg of you, instead of one." 
 
 And with another amused laugh Clodagh took ad- 
 vantage of her dismissal. 
 
 Milbanke's absorption was so unfeigned that when 
 Clodagh came running back nearly three hours later, 
 full of remorse for her long desertion, he greeted 
 her with something amounting to regret. 
 
 Twice she had to remind him that the afternoon 
 was all but spent and the long walk to Orristown was 
 still to be reckoned with before he could desist from 
 the fascinating task of completing the notes he had 
 made. At last, with a little sigh of amiable regret, he 
 shut up his book, returned the magnifying-glass to his 
 satchel, and slowly followed her out of the church- 
 yard. 
 
 They had covered half a mile of the smooth strand, 
 across which the first long shadows of evening had 
 begun to fall, before the glamour of the past centuries 
 had faded from his consideration ^permitting the 
 more material present to obtrude itself. 
 
 With a little start of compunction he realized how 
 silent and uninteresting a companion he must seem 
 to the girl walking so staidly beside him ; and with 
 something of guilt in the movement he withdrew his 
 eyes from the long, wet line of sand where the in- 
 coming tide was stealthily encroaching. 
 
 "Miss Clodagh," he said, abruptly, "what are you 
 thinking of?" 
 
 65
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 With frank spontaneity she turned and met his gaze. 
 
 " I was wondering," she said, candidly," when you'd 
 forget the Round Tower and remember about father." 
 
 He started, roused to a fresh sense of guilt. 
 
 "You — you mustn't think. Miss Clodagh — " he 
 began, stammeringly. 
 
 But Clodagh laughed. 
 
 "Oh, don't bother about it," she said, easily. "I 
 wasn't really thinking." 
 
 For a while he remained silent, watching the noisy 
 dogs as they ineffectually chased the seagulls that 
 wheeled above the unrufifled waves; then at last, 
 urged by his awakened conscience, he half paused 
 and looked again at the girl's bright face. 
 
 "Miss Clodagh," he began, "I feel very guilty — I 
 am very guilty." 
 
 Clodagh glanced back at him. 
 
 "How?" she said, simply. 
 
 "Because last night I unconsciously did what you 
 disapprove of. I played with your father for high 
 stakes, and I am ashamed to say that I won a large 
 sum of money." 
 
 For an instant the brightness left her glance; she 
 looked at him with the serious eyes of the night before. 
 
 "Much?" she asked, impulsively. 
 
 "Twenty pounds." Milbanke felt himself color. 
 Then he rallied his courage. "But that isn't all," 
 he added, quickly. " I have something worse to con- 
 fess. When I came down to breakfast this morning 
 I found a check lying on my plate. I felt intensely 
 remorseful, as you can imagine, and determined to 
 make reparation. After breakfast I broached the 
 subject to Denis ; I begged him to allow me to cancel 
 our play by tearing up the check. He was furiously 
 angry, and I, instead of showing the courage of 
 
 66
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 ray opinion, was actually weak enough to succumb. 
 Now, what punishment do you think I deserve?" 
 He paused, looking at her anxiously. 
 
 For a while she looked steadily ahead, absorbed in 
 her own thoughts; then slowly she looked back at 
 him with interested, incredulous eyes. 
 
 "Don't English people pay when they lose?" she 
 asked, after a long pause. 
 
 Again he colored. 
 
 "Why, yes," he said, hurriedly. "Yes, of course, 
 only — " 
 
 "Only what?" 
 
 "Nothing. Nothing. It was only that T thought 
 you wanted — " 
 
 "I wanted you not to encourage him. 1 never 
 wanted you to think that he isn't a gentleman." 
 
 She made the statement with perfect naturalness, 
 as though the subject was one of common, every-day 
 discussion. According to her code of honor, she was 
 justified in putting every possible bar to her father's 
 weakness; but where the bar had proved useless, 
 where the weakness had conquered and the deed she 
 disapproved had been accomplished, then the matter, 
 to her thinking, had passed out of her hands. Her 
 judgment ceased to be individual and became the 
 judgment of her race. 
 
 As she looked at Milbanke's perplexed, concerned 
 face her expression changed and she smiled. The 
 smile was gracious and reassuring, but below the 
 graciousness lay a tinge of tolerant indulgence. 
 
 "We won't talk about it any more," she said. "I 
 don't suppose you can be expected to understand." 
 And suddenly raising her head, she whistled to the 
 dogs. 
 
 During the remainder of the walk Milbanke was 
 
 67
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 very silent. Perplexed and yet fascinated by the 
 problem, his mind dwelt unceasingly upon this 
 strange position into which the chances of a day or 
 two had thrown him. The bonds that drew him to 
 his entertainers, and the gulf that separated him from 
 them, were so tangible and yet so illusive. In every 
 outward respect they were his fellow-beings; they 
 spoke the same language, wore the same clothes, ate 
 the same food, and yet unquestionably they were 
 creatures of different fibre. He felt curiously daunt- 
 ed and curiously attracted by the peculiar fact. 
 
 To appreciate the difference between the English- 
 man and the Irishman one must see the latter in his 
 native atmosphere. It is there that his faults and 
 his virtues take on their proper values ; there that his 
 innate poetry, his reckless generosity, his splendid, 
 prodigal hospitality have fullest scope ; there that his 
 primitive narrowness of outlook, his antiquated sense 
 of honor, and his absurdly sensitive self-esteem are 
 most vividly backgrounded. Outside his own coun- 
 try, he is merely a subject of the great empire, possess- 
 ing, perhaps, a sharper wit and a more ingratiating 
 manner than his fellow-stibjects of colder tempera- 
 ment; but in his natural environment he stands out 
 pre-eminently as a peculiar development — the prod- 
 uct of a warm-blooded, intelligent, imaginative race 
 that, by some oversight of nature, has been pushed 
 aside in the march of the nations. 
 
 Milbanke made no attempt to formulate this idea 
 or any portion of it, as he paced steadily forward 
 across the darkening sands; but incontinently it did 
 flash across his mind that the girl beside him claimed 
 more attention in this unsophisticated atmosphere 
 than he might have given her in conventional sur- 
 roundings. She was so much part of the picture — so 
 
 68
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 tindeniably a child of the sweeping cliffs, the magnif- 
 icent sea and the hundred traditions that encircled 
 every sod of the primitive land. In her buoyant, 
 youthful figure he seemed, by a curious, retrograde 
 process of the mind, to find the solution to his own 
 early worship of Asshlin. Asshlin had attracted 
 him, ruled him, domineered over him by right of 
 superiority — the hereditary, half-barbaric superiority 
 of the natural aristocrat ; the man of ancient lineage 
 in a country where yesterday — and the glories of 
 yesterday — stand for everything, where to-day is 
 unreckoned with and to - morrow does not exist. 
 Reaching the end of the strand, he turned to her 
 quickly with a strange sensation of sympathy — almost 
 of apprehension. 
 
 "Miss Clodagh," he said, gently, as she began to 
 ascend the heaped-up bowlders that separated the 
 road from the beach — "Miss Clodagh, I grant that I 
 don't quite understand, as you put it; but I knew 
 your father many years before you were born, and I 
 think that gives me some privilege. On one point I 
 have quite made up my mind. I shall not play 
 cards again while I am in your house." 
 
 As he spoke Clodagh paused in her ascent of the 
 bowlders and looked at him. In the softly deepening 
 twilight, her eyes had a mysterious promise of the 
 great beauty they were yet to possess; and in their 
 depths a shade of respect, of surprised admiration, 
 had suddenly become visible. As she gazed at him, 
 her lips parted involuntarily. 
 
 "T didn't think you were so plucky," she said; 
 then abruptlv she stopped, glancing over her shoulder. 
 
 From the road behind them came the clicking 
 thud of a horse's hoofs, and a moment later the voice 
 of Asshlin hailed them out of the dusk. 
 
 69
 
 VIII 
 
 IT would be futile to deny that the unexpected 
 sound of Asshlin's voice brought a tremor to the 
 mind of his guest. It is disconcerting to the most val- 
 iant to be confronted with his antagonist in the very 
 moment that he has laid down his challenge; and at 
 best Milbanke was no hero. Nevertheless, he recovered 
 his equanimity with creditable speed, and, exchanging 
 a quick glance with Clodagh, scrambled hastily over 
 the remaining bowlders and reached the road. 
 
 As he gained it, Asshlin pulled up sharply and dis- 
 mounted from his big, bony horse with all the 
 dexterity of a young man. With a loud laugh of 
 greeting he slipped the bridle over one hand and 
 linked the other in Milbanke's arm. 
 
 "Hullo!" he cried. "Now who'd have dreamed 
 that I'd meet you like this? I'm ashamed of you, 
 James. Ton my word I am. Philandering across 
 the strand in the fall of the evening as if you were 
 still in the twenties! It's with me you should have 
 been. We had the deuce of a fine run." 
 
 He paused to push his hat from his hot forehead 
 and to rearrange the bridle. 
 
 Clodagh, who had followed Milbanke slowly, 
 stepped eagerly forward as she caught the last words. 
 
 "Oh, father," she cried, "tell us about it? Who 
 was there? Was the sport good? Did the bay 
 carry you well?" 
 
 70
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 In her suddenly awakened interest it was clear to 
 Milbanke that the vital question she had been dis- 
 cussing with him — the opinions he had expressed upon 
 it — his very existence even, were obliterated from her 
 mind, her natural, youthful exuberance responding to 
 the idea of any physical action as unfailingly as the 
 needle answers to the magnet. And again the faintly 
 l^oignant sense of aloofness and age fell upon him, as 
 lie listened uncomprehendingly to Asshlin's excited 
 flow of words, and watched the bright, ardent face of 
 the girl glowing out of the dusk. 
 
 They made a curious trio as they covered the 
 stretch of road that led to Orristown, and passed 
 between the heavy, moss-grown piers of the big gate, 
 entering the deep shade of the avenue. With an in- 
 stinctive care for his horse, Asshlin went first, cau- 
 tiously guiding the animal over the ruts that time 
 and the heavy rains had ploughed in the soft ground. 
 Behind him came Clodagh, Milbanke. and their follow- 
 ing of dogs. 
 
 Once again the thought of what the evening held 
 came unpleasantly to Milbanke's mind as the shadow 
 of the gaunt beech-trees and the outline of the great 
 square house brought the position home to him 
 afresh. Lack imagination as he might, he realized 
 that it was no light task to thwart a man whose 
 faults had been cultivated and whose peculiarities — 
 racial and personal — had been accentuated by a quar- 
 ter of a century of comparative isolation. But 
 instinctively as the thought came to him, he turned 
 to the girl, whose erect figure had grown indistinct 
 in the gathering gloom. 
 
 "Miss Clodagh," he whispered, "though I may not 
 understand, are you satisfied to trust me?" 
 
 There was a pause; then, with one of the sudden 
 
 71
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 impulses that formed so large a part of her individual- 
 ity, Clodagh put out her hand; and for an instant 
 her fingers and Milbanke's touched. 
 
 To every one but Asshlin the dinner that evening 
 was a strain. But the silence or the uneasiness of the 
 others was powerless to damp his enthusiasm. His 
 appetite was tremendous; and as he ate plentifully 
 and swallowed glass after glass of sherry his excite- 
 ment and his spirits rose. With the ardor of the 
 born sportsman, he recounted again and again the 
 details of the day's hunt — dwelling lovingly on the 
 behavior of the dogs and the horses, and on the 
 prowess of his own mount. Finally, he rose from 
 table with a flushed face though a perfectly steady 
 gait, and, crossing the room, pulled the long bell-rope 
 that hung beside the fireplace. 
 
 "Now for our night, James!" he cried. "Now for 
 my revenge! Clear the table, Burke," he added, as 
 the old man appeared in answer to the summons. 
 " Get out the cards, and bring enough candles to light 
 us all to glory." He gave a boisterous laugh, and, 
 turning with a touch of bravado, stood facing the 
 picture of his great-grandfather. 
 
 Instinctively, as he turned his back upon the 
 party, little Nance drew nearer to her sister, and 
 Clodagh glanced at Milbanke. 
 
 As their eyes met he involuntarily stiffened his 
 small, spare figure, and with a quick, nervous manner 
 nodded towards the door. 
 
 For a moment Clodagh hesitated, her fear for her 
 father's self-control dominated by her native interest 
 in an encounter; then Nance decided the matter by 
 plucking hurriedly at her sleeve. 
 
 " Don't stop, Clo," she whispered, almost inaudibly, 
 
 72
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 her small, expressive face puckered with anxiety. 
 "Don't stop. I'm frightened." 
 
 The appeal was instantly effective. Clodagh rose 
 at once, and with one arm passed reassuringly round 
 the child's shoulder, slipped silently from the room. 
 
 For some moments after the two had departed, 
 Asshlin retained his position; and Milbanke, intently 
 watchful of his tall figure, held himself nervously in 
 hand for the coming encounter. At last, when the 
 cloth had been removed, the candles renewed, and 
 the cards placed upon the table, Asshlin turned, his 
 face flushed with anticipation. 
 
 "That's good!" he exclaimed. "That's good! 
 With a fire, a bottle of port, and a pack of cards a 
 man could be happy in Hades! Not that I'm for- 
 getting the good comrade that gives a flavor to 
 the combination, James. Not that I'm forgetting 
 that." 
 
 His smile had all the charm, his voice all the warmth 
 that had marked them long ago, as he drew his 
 chair to the table and picked uj) the cards. 
 
 Milbanke straightened himself in his seat. 
 
 "Come along, man! Draw up! Draw up to the 
 table! What shall it be ? Euchre again? Are you 
 agreeable to the same stakes?" Asshlin talked on, 
 heedless of the strangely unresponsive demeanor of 
 his guest. 
 
 As he ceased to speak, however, Milbanke took 
 the plunge he had been contemplating all day. 
 In the silence of the room, broken only by the faint, 
 comfortable liissing of the peat in the fireplace and 
 the rustling of the cards as Asshlin mechanically 
 shuffled them, he pulled his chair forward and laid 
 his clasped hands on the table. 
 
 "Denis," he said, in his thin, quiet voice, "1 am 
 
 73
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 sorry — very sorry to disappoint you, but I cannot 
 play." 
 
 Asshlin paused in the act of shuffling and laid the 
 
 cards down. 
 
 "What in the name of fortune are you talking 
 about?" he asked. His tone was indulgent and 
 amused; it was evident that the meaning in the 
 other's words had not definitely reached him. 
 
 "It is not a joke," Milbanke interposed, quickly. 
 "I cannot — I do not intend to play." 
 
 Then for the first time a shadow of comprehension 
 crossed Asshlin's face — but it was only a shadow. 
 With a boisterous laugh, he leaned forward and filled 
 the empty glasses that stood upon the table, pushing 
 one across to Milbanke. 
 
 "Have a drop of port, man!" he cried. "'Twill 
 give you courage to cut." 
 
 He lifted and drained his own glass, and, setting it 
 back upon the table, refilled it. 
 
 But Milbanke remained immovable. His thin 
 hands were still clasped, his pale face looked anx- 
 ious. 
 
 "Go on, James. You're not afraid of a drop of 
 wine?" 
 
 Again he laughed, but this time there was an un- 
 pleasant ring audible in his voice. 
 
 Mechanically Milbanke lifted his glass to his lips. 
 
 "No," he said, with embarrassed deprecation. 
 "No, I'm more afraid of your displeasure. I — I'm 
 exceedingly sorry to disappoint you." 
 
 But once more his host laughed. 
 
 "Nonsense, man. I know your httle scruples and 
 your little conscience, and I'm not scared of either. 
 Never meet the devil half - way. He covers the 
 ground too quickly as it is." He caught up the cards 
 
 74
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 again, and, forming them into a pack, held them out. 
 "Cut!" he said, laconically. 
 
 Milbanke drew back and his lips came together, 
 forming a thin line. 
 
 "Come on! Cut!" The color of Asshlin's face 
 became a shade deeper. 
 
 Still the other sat rigidly still. 
 
 For a moment their eyes held each other; then 
 suddenly the blood surged into Asshlin's neck rind 
 face. 
 
 " Do you mean to say that you refuse to play ?" he 
 asked, slowly. "That you refuse to give me my. 
 revenge ?" 
 
 Milbanke met the attack unsteadily. 
 
 "My dear Denis— " 
 
 But before the words had left his lips. Asshlin 
 flung the cards upon the table with a force that sent 
 a score of them flying across the room. 
 
 "And may I ask you for your reasons?" he de- 
 manded, with alarming calm. 
 
 Milbanke fenced. 
 
 "I do not wish to play." 
 
 "And I don't wish to be treated as a fool." 
 
 The other altered his attitude. 
 
 "My dear Denis, you surely acknowledge the right 
 of free-will? I do not wish to play cards, and there- 
 fore beg to be excused. What could be simpler?" 
 
 His manner was slightly perturbed, his speech hasty. 
 There was the suggestion of a sleeping volcano in his 
 host's unnatural calm. 
 
 In the silence that followed, Asshlin lifted his glass 
 and emptied it slowly. 
 
 "I don't know about that," he said, as he set it 
 down. "There are unwritten codes that all the free- 
 will in the world won't dispose of. One of them is 
 
 75
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 that a gentleman who wins at cards cannot refuse his 
 opponent the satisfaction of his revenge. But per- 
 haps the etiquette has changed since my time." 
 
 His manner was still controlled but his eyes glittered. 
 
 Milbanke cleared his throat. 
 
 "My dear Asshlin," he said, "we are surely friends 
 of too long standing to split hairs in this fashion. 
 What is this revenge that you talk of? Nothing — 
 a myth — an imaginary justification of honor." 
 
 A quick sound of contempt escaped Asshlin. 
 
 "And what is every code and every sentiment in 
 the world but an outcome of imagination?" he cried. 
 "What is it but imagination that herds us off from 
 the beasts? I'm satisfied to call it imagination. It 
 tells me that I was worsted last night, and that I'm 
 capable of better things if I try my luck again. And 
 I'm satisfied to follow its promptings — and demand 
 my revenge." 
 
 For a while Milbanke sat miserable and undecided ; 
 then, under the goad of the other's eyes, he did an ill- 
 judged thing. Fumbling nervously for his letter- 
 case, he rose from his seat and walked across to the 
 fireplace. 
 
 "There is nothing for you to revenge," he said, 
 agitatedly. "There was no play last night. It's 
 cancelled. I cancel it." 
 
 With tremulous haste he pulled out the letter-case, 
 extracted Asshlin's check, and dropped it into the 
 fire. 
 
 There was a pause — a pause of tremendous mo- 
 ment — in which he stood aghast at his ov/n deed. 
 Then Asshlin turned on him, his face purple and 
 convulsed with rage. 
 
 "You dare to insult me ? You dare to insult me in 
 mv own hoyse ? You dare to imply that it was the 
 
 76
 
 THE GAMBLE R 
 
 money — the damned money — that 1 wanted to win 
 back?" 
 
 Milbanke looked up sharply. 
 
 "Good God, no!" he exclaimed, with unwonted 
 vehemence. "Such a thought never entered mv 
 mind." 
 
 "Then what's the meaning of all this? What is it 
 all driving at ?" 
 
 Asshlin's hard, handsome face was contorted by 
 passion and his hands shook. 
 
 "Nothing. It's driving at nothing. It is simply 
 that I do not wish to play." 
 
 "And why not?" Asshlin suddenly rose, his great 
 body towering above the other's. "Why not? By 
 God, I'll have an answer!" 
 
 "There is no answer." 
 
 "No answer? We'll see about that. Who's been 
 lying to you about me ? Who's been carrying 
 scandals about me? Out with it! Out with it!" 
 
 Then unexpectedly Milbanke's trepidation forsook 
 him. He suddenly straightened himself. 
 
 "No one," he answered. 
 
 " No one ? Are you quite sure ?" 
 
 "No one." 
 
 "Then what do you mean by this? What do you 
 mean by meddling in my affairs?" 
 
 He took a menacing step forward. 
 
 Milbanke stood firm. "I have my reasons," he 
 said, quietly. 
 
 "You have your reasons, have you?" 
 
 Asshlin laughed harshly. "Then I'll have my an- 
 swer. What do you mean by it?" 
 
 For a second the other remained silent and un- 
 moved ; then a light gleamed in his colorless eyes. 
 
 "All right," he said. "You shall have it. Pcr- 
 
 77
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 haps it is as well. I came here expecting to see the 
 boy I had known grown into a genial, hospitable, 
 honorable gentleman; instead, I find him an un- 
 disciplined, tyrannical egotist." 
 
 He said it quickly in a rush- of unusual vehemence. 
 All his anticipations, all his suspicions and their sub- 
 sequent justification — coupled with the new sense of 
 protection towards the children of his early friend — 
 found voice in the words. 
 
 "You are an egotist, Denis," he repeated, distinct- 
 ly. "A weak, worthless egotist — not fit to have 
 children — not fit to have a friend — " 
 
 Asshlin stared at him for a moment in speechless 
 surprise; then indignation surmounted every other 
 feeling. With a fierce gesture he took another step 
 forward, his eyes blazing, his hand menacingly clinched. 
 
 "How — how dare you!" he stammered. "How 
 dare you! By God, if you were a bigger man I'd — 
 I'd—" 
 
 He paused, choked by his fury, 
 
 "I know. I know. But I'm not afraid of you. 
 I'm not to be bullied into subjection." 
 
 Milbanke's temper, difficult to rouse, was stirred at 
 last. He gave his host glance for glance. 
 
 "You realize what you have said?" 
 
 Asshlin's dark face was distorted, his voice came 
 unsteadily. 
 
 "Yes. I regret that I have had to say it, but I do 
 not regret saying it. It is wholesome for a man to 
 hear the truth." 
 
 "Oh, it's wholesome to hear the truth, is it.?" 
 
 "Yes; and I won't see you go to pieces for want of 
 hearing it. You are a man with obligations, and you 
 are neglecting your obligations. There are other 
 things in life besides cards and horses — " 
 
 78
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Asshlin suddenly threw back his head with an- 
 other harsh lau^h. 
 
 "By God, you're right!" he cried. "And the 
 other things are a damn sight worse. I'd put a good 
 horse before a self-righteous preacher any day." 
 
 Milbanke's usually pallid face flushed. 
 
 "You mean that for me?" he asked, quietly. 
 
 Asshlin shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "If you like," he said. "If the cap hts— " 
 
 For a moment Milbanke said nothing, then once 
 again he straightened his small, thin figure. 
 
 "Very well, Denis," he said. "I quite understand. 
 With your permission I will say good - bye to you 
 now, and to-morrow morning I will catch the earliest 
 train from Muskeere." 
 
 He looked at his host steadily. Then, through the 
 temper that still mastered him, a twinge of regret, a 
 sense of parting and loss obtruded themselves. With 
 all his intolerable faults, Asshlin still stood within 
 the halo and glamour of the past. 
 
 "Denis — " he exclaimed, suddenly. 
 
 But the appeal was made too late. Uncontrollable 
 fury — the one power which could efface his sense of 
 hospitality — possessed Asshlin. His pulses pounded; 
 his senses were blurred. With a seething conscious- 
 ness of insult and injury, he turned again upon his 
 guest. 
 
 "You can go to hell for all I care!" he cried, 
 savagely. 
 
 For a second Milbanke continued to look at him; 
 then without a word he turned, crossed the room, and 
 passed into the hall.
 
 IX 
 
 IT was on a windy March morning, three years after 
 his summarily ended visit to Ireland, that James 
 Milbanke stood in the bedroom of his London flat. 
 A perturbed frown puckered his forehead and he 
 held an open letter in his hand. 
 
 Outside, the dark sky and cold, searching breeze 
 proclaimed the raw English spring; inside, the partly 
 dismantled walls of the room, the emptied drawers 
 and wardrobe, the trunks, bags, and rugs standing 
 ready strapped all suggested another and more in- 
 viting climate. Milbanke was bound for the south. 
 
 Three months earlier he had come to the momen- 
 tous conclusion that a solitary life in London — spent 
 no matter how comfortably — becomes a colorless and 
 somewhat empty thing after a thirty-three years' 
 experience. He had his club and his friends it was 
 true, but he was not a clubman born, and friends 
 must be very intimate to be all-sufificing. At fifty- 
 five that restlessness that sometimes unexpectedly 
 attacks the middle - aged bachelor had fallen upon 
 him. The suggestion that he craved new surround- 
 ings and new fields of interest had been slow in 
 coming — and his acceptance of it had been slow. 
 But steadily and inevitably it had grown into his 
 consciousness, maturing almost against his will, until 
 at last the day had dawned on which he had ad- 
 mitted to himself that a change was indispensable. 
 
 80
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 The subsequent events had followed in natural 
 order. His hobby had urged him to leave his own 
 country for one richer in association; the dump 
 cold of the English winter coupled with the chilled 
 blood of advancing age had inclined him to the idea 
 of southern Europe. The result of this triple sugges- 
 tion was that he stood in his room on that sprmg 
 morning in the last stages of preparation for a 
 journey to Italy. 
 
 He stood there with the discomfort of packing 
 pleasantly accomplished and the array of his be- 
 longings neatly surrounding him; yet his attitude 
 and expression were those of a man who is faced 
 by an insurmountable and unlooked - for difificulty. 
 With a nervous gesture he shook out the letter that 
 lie held and began to read it hastily for the fourth 
 time. It was a long letter written in a careless, 
 almost boyish hand on thin paper, and bore the 
 address of "Orristown, Ireland." It was dated two 
 days earlier, and began: 
 
 "Dear Mr. Milbanke, — You will be very much surprised 
 to get this, but I write for father not for myself. He had a 
 bad accident yesterday while out riding and is terribly hurt 
 and ill. The doctor from Carrigmore is with him all the 
 time, and my aunt — as well as Nance and I — so he is well 
 cared for. But he seems to get worse instead of better, 
 and we are dreadfully frightened about him. 
 
 "There is one thing he constantly craves for — and that is 
 to see you. Ever since that night three years ago when you 
 and he quarrelled and you went away I think he has been 
 fretting about you. Of course he has never spoken of it, but 
 I don't think he has ever forgotten that he treated you 
 badly. 
 
 "This morning he talked a great deal about the time when 
 
 vovi and he were young together; so much so that I asked 
 
 him if he would like to sec you. The moment I mentioned 
 
 it his face lighted up, but then at once it clouded over again 
 
 6 8t
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 and he muttered something about never giving any man 
 the chance of refusing him a favor. 
 
 "That is how he feels about asking you to come here, but 
 I feel differently. I would risk anything a hundred times 
 over on the chance of bringing you to him. And if you are 
 in London please do come if only for one night. Don't refuse, 
 for he is very, very bad. Any time you send me a telegram 
 the trap can meet you either at Muskeere or Dunhaven. 
 
 " This is a dreadful letter, but I have been up all night and 
 scarcely know what I am writing. 
 
 "Answer as soon as possible. 
 
 "Yours, 
 
 "Clodagh Asshlin." 
 
 Milbanke scanned the letter to the last line; then 
 as he reached the signature the inertia that had 
 pervaded his mind was suddenly dispersed. His own 
 shock of sorrow and dismay, his own interrupted 
 plans faded from his consideration ; and in their place 
 rose the picture of a great white house on the lonely 
 Irish coast; of a sick — perhaps a dying — man; of two 
 frightened children and a couple of faithful, inefficient 
 servants. With an energy he had not evinced for 
 years he crossed the room, stumbling over straps 
 and parcels, and rang the bell with imperative haste. 
 
 When a surprised maid appeared at the door he 
 turned to her with unwonted excitement. 
 
 "I have a telegram to send," he said; "one that 
 must go at once." 
 
 The rest of that day, with its suddenly altered plans, 
 its long railway journey from Paddington to New 
 Milford and its stormy night crossing from the latter 
 point to the town of Waterford, was too beset with 
 haste and confusion to contain any definite recollec- 
 tions for Milbanke. It was not until he had taken his 
 seat at eight o'clock next morning in the small and 
 
 32
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 leisurely train that transports passengers from Water- 
 ford to the seaport of Dunhaven that he found time 
 to realize the significance of his journey ; and not until 
 he descended from his carriage at this latter station 
 and was greeted by old Burke the Orristown retainer 
 that he fully appreciated the gravity of the incident 
 that had occasioned it. 
 
 There was no change apparent in Burke's familiar 
 face save the gloom that overhung his expression. 
 But this was obvious to Milbanke at a first glance. 
 
 "You're welcome, sir," were his opening words; 
 then the underlying bent of his thoughts found vent. 
 " 'Tis a sorrowful house you'll be findin'," he 'added, 
 in a subdued voice. 
 
 Milbanke glanced up sharply from the rug he was 
 unstrapping. 
 
 "How is he?" he asked. "Not worse?" 
 
 Burke shook his head. 
 
 "'Twouldn't be wishin' for me to give you the 
 bad word — " he began, deprecatingly. 
 
 " Then he is bad ?" 
 
 The old man pursed up his lips. 
 
 "Ah, I'm in dread 'tis for his long home he's bound," 
 he said, reluctantly. "Glory be to God an' His holy 
 ways! But 'tis of thim two poor children that I do 
 be thinkin'." 
 
 But Milbanke's mind was occupied with his first 
 words. 
 
 " But how is he ?" he demanded. " What is the in- 
 jury ? Has he an efficient doctor?" 
 
 Again Burke shook his head. 
 
 "Docthors?" he said, dubiously. " Wisha, I don't 
 put much pass on docthors; not but what they say 
 Docthor Gallagher from Carrigmore is a fine hand 
 wid the knife. But sure when the Almighty takes 
 
 83 
 
 r
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 the notion to break every bone in a man's body, 
 'tisn't for the Hke of docthors to be settin' up to 
 mend them." 
 
 With this piece of pessimistic philosophy he picked 
 up Milbanke's bags and rug and guided him through 
 the small station into the open, where the Orristown 
 trap stood waiting in a down-pour of rain. 
 
 He imparted little more information during the 
 long drive, and Milbanke had to sit under his dripping 
 umbrella with as much patience as they could muster 
 while they ploughed forward over an execrable road. 
 
 The gateway of Orristown, when at last it was 
 reached, looked mouldy and forlorn in the chilly 
 damp of the atmosphere ; and as they plunged up the 
 avenue at the usual reckless pace, a perfect torrent of 
 rain-drops deluged them from the intersecting branches 
 of the trees. Yet despite the gloom and the discom- 
 fort a thrill of something like pleasure filled Milbanke 
 as a whiff of clean, cold air brought the scent of the 
 sea to his nostrils and the turn of the avenue showed 
 the square house, white and massive against the gray 
 sky. 
 
 But he was given little time to indulge in the 
 pleasure of reminiscence, for instantly the trap drew 
 up the hall door was thrown open, showing a face 
 and figure that sent everything but the moment and 
 the business in hand far from his mind. 
 
 It was Clodagh who stood there waiting to greet 
 him — Clodagh, curiously changed and grown in the 
 three years that had passed since their last meeting. 
 In place of the spirited, unformed child that he 
 remembered, Milbanke saw a very young girl, whose 
 boyishness of figure had disappeared in slight feminine 
 curves, whose bright, fearless eyes had softened into 
 uncommon beauty. 
 
 84
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 With a glow of relief lighting up her face, she 
 stepped forward as the horse halted, and, heedless of 
 the rain that fell on her uncovered head, laid one 
 hand on the shaft of the trap. 
 
 "Oh, it's good of you! It's good of you!" she 
 exclaimed. "We can never forget it." Then the 
 color flooded her cheeks and her eyes filled. "Oh, 
 he's so bad!" she added. "It's so terrible to see 
 him — so terrible." 
 
 She looked up with alarm and impotence into 
 Milbanke's face. 
 
 But it was not the guest but old Burke who found 
 words to calm her fear and grief. Leaning down 
 from his seat, he laid a rough hand on her shoulder. 
 
 "Whist, now. Miss Clodagh!" he said, softly. 
 "Whist now! Sure God is good. While there's life 
 there's hope. Don't be believin' anythin' else. 
 Sure what is he but a young man yet?" 
 
 "That's true, Burke! That's true!" Clodagh ex- 
 claimed, quickly. "Won't you come in, Mr. Mil- 
 bankc ?" she added. "You know how welcome you 
 are. 
 
 Once inside the hall, she turned to him quickly and 
 confidingly. 
 
 "I can never forget that you've done this," she 
 said. "It's a really, really generous thing. But all 
 my mind is full of father. You can understand, can't 
 you r 
 
 Her agitation, her alarm, her evident helplessness 
 in presence of a contingency never previously faced, 
 all touched him deeply. His tone was low and 
 gentle as he responded. 
 
 "I understand perfectly — perfectly," he said. 
 "Poor Denis! Poor Denis! How did the thing 
 occur?" 
 
 8S
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Oh, just an accident — just an accident. About 
 six months ago he took a fancy for riding late at 
 night. He used to ride for miles along the most 
 dangerous paths of the cliff. I knew it wasn't safe; I 
 said so over and over again. But you know father!" 
 She gave a little hopeless shake of her head. "On 
 Monday night he saddled one of the young horses at 
 about ten o'clock and went out by himself. It came 
 to twelve and he hadn't returned. Then we began 
 to get uneasy, and at one o'clock we started to look 
 for him. After a search all along the cliff, we found 
 him wedged between two of the upper ledges of the 
 rocks terribly — terribly hurt." She shuddered pal- 
 pably at the recollection. "We didn't know — we 
 don't know even now — quite how it happened. But 
 we think the horse must have lost his footing and 
 fallen over the cliff, throwing father, for the poor 
 thing was found dead on the shingle next morning- 
 'Twas a miracle that father escaped with his life, but 
 he's terribly injured." 
 
 She paused again, as though the subject was too 
 painful to be pursued. 
 
 Milbanke looked at her compassionately. 
 
 "Has he had proper medical advice?" he asked. 
 
 "Oh yes. Dr. Gallagher from Carrigmore has done 
 everything and we have a trained nurse from Water- 
 ford." 
 
 "That's right. I must have a talk with the doctor. 
 But how is Denis now? Will he know me, do you 
 think?" 
 
 "Oh yes. Ever since the first night he has been 
 quite conscious. He expects you. He's longing to 
 see you." 
 
 "Then may I go to him?" 
 
 Clodagh nodded, and, turning, led the way silently 
 
 86
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 u[) the remembered staircase. On the landing the 
 recollection of their curious interview on his first 
 night at Orristown recurred forcibly to Milbanke. 
 He glanced at his guide to see if it had any place in 
 her mind; but her thoughts were evidently full of 
 other things. With a quick gesture that enjoined 
 silence, she led him down the corridor, upon which 
 rough fibre mats had been strewn to deaden sound. 
 
 With that pecuHar sensation of awe that serious 
 illness always engenders, he tiptoed after her, a 
 sense of apprehensive depression growing upon him 
 with every step. As they neared the end of the 
 passage, a door opened noiselessly and two figures 
 emerged from a darkened room. The taller of the 
 two — a pale, emaciated woman dressed in mourning 
 — was unknown to him, but a glance told him that the 
 latter was little Nance, grown to pretty, immature 
 girlhood. 
 
 On catching sight of him, she drew back with a 
 passing touch of the old shyness; but, conquering it 
 almost directly, she came forward and shook hands 
 in silence. In the momentary greeting he saw that 
 her vivacious little face was red and marred by 
 tears ; but before he had time for further observation 
 Clodagh touched his arm. 
 
 "My aunt, Mrs. Asshlin." she whispered. 
 
 Milbanke bowed, and Mrs. Asshlin extended her 
 hand. 
 
 "We meet on a sad occasion, Mr. Milbanke," she 
 murmured, in a low, querulous voice. "My poor 
 brother-in-law was always such a rash man. But 
 with some people, you know, there is no such thing 
 as remonstrating. Even this morning when Mr. 
 Curry, our rector from Carrigmore, came to have a 
 little talk with him he was barely polite; and it was 
 
 87 
 
 r
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 only yesterday that we dared to tell him that Dr. 
 Gallagher insisted on having a nurse. Now what 
 can you do with a patient like that?" 
 
 Milbanke murmured something vaguely unintelli- 
 gible, and Clodagh stirred impatiently. 
 
 "Did you give him the medicine, Aunt Fan?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "I did; but with great difficulty. My brother-in- 
 law has always been averse to medical aid," she 
 explained to Milbanke. 
 
 "He's never had any need of it," Clodagh whis- 
 pered, sharply. " Will you come, Mr. Milbanke ? He's 
 quite alone. The nurse is resting. 
 
 With great dignity Mrs. Asshlin moved away. 
 
 "I shall ask Hannah to get me a cup of tea, 
 Clodagh," she murmured. "I get such a headache 
 from a sick-room." 
 
 Without replying, Clodagh turned again to Mil- 
 banke. 
 
 "He's not to get excited." she whispered. "And 
 mind — mind — don't say that 3"ou think him looking 
 badly." 
 
 She paused and laid her fingers lightly on his arm, 
 then with a swift movement she stepped forward, 
 drawing him with her into the big, darkened room 
 with its sense of preternatural quiet and its pungent, 
 suggestive smell of drugs and antiseptic dressings.
 
 WITH a strange blending of curiosity and shrink- 
 ing, Milbanke obeyed the pressure of Clodagh's 
 hand and moved forward into the room. The cold 
 March daylight was partly excluded by drawn blinds, 
 but a glow from the fire played upon the walls and 
 the high four-post bedstead. 
 
 With the same mingling of curiosity and dread, his 
 eyes fell at once upon this prominent article of 
 furniture and remained fixed there in doubt and 
 incredulity. For the moment his senses refused to 
 acknowledge that the feverish, haggard face that 
 stared at him from the pillows was the face of Asshlin 
 — Asshlin, tyrannical, passionate, greedy of life. 
 
 In the hours of agony that he had passed through, 
 the sick man's features had become shrunken, 
 causing his eyes to stare forth preternaturally large 
 and restless; his hair had been cropped close — to 
 allow of the dressing of a wound over the temple — 
 and the tight white bandages lent a strange and un- 
 familiar appearance to his finely shaped head. With 
 a sick sensation, Milbanke went slowly forward. 
 
 The patient made no attempt to move, aS he 
 drew near the bed, but his feverishly bright glance 
 seemed to devour his face. 
 
 "Here he is, father!" Clodagh exclaimed, softly 
 and eagerly. "Here's Mr. Milbanke! Now aren't 
 you happy? He's not able to move," she explained, 
 
 89
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 turning to the guest. "It gives him terrible agony 
 to stir." 
 
 Milbanke had reached the bed, and, with a sensa- 
 tion of awkwardness and impotence impossible to 
 describe, he stood looking down upon Asshlin. 
 
 "My poor Denis!" he said. " My poor, poor friend! 
 This is a bad business. I had no idea — " 
 
 Then he paused confvisedly, remembering Clodagh's 
 warning. 
 
 "But we'll see you laughing at it all before we're 
 much older," he added, in awkward haste to make 
 amends. 
 
 A gleam of something like irony crossed Asshlin's 
 watchful eyes. 
 
 "I'm done for this time, James," he said, feebly. 
 "I suppose I've had my day, and, like every other 
 dog, must answer to the whistle. Well, I don't com- 
 plain. I'm getting more than my deserts in seeing 
 you again. You're as welcome as the flowers in — " 
 
 His voice failed. 
 
 " I know. I know. Don't trouble. Don't try to 
 speak." Milbanke bent over him anxiously. 
 
 But Asshlin glanced back. "Ah, but that's what 
 I must do, James," he said, sharply. "That's what 
 I want you for. I have something that must be said." 
 
 Milbanke turned to Clodagh. 
 
 "Is it right of him to excite himself?" he asked, in 
 distress. " If it's anything that you reproach yourself 
 with, Denis — " 
 
 But Asshlin interrupted with a weak echo of his 
 old intolerance. 
 
 "Send Clo awa^^" he said. "There's something I 
 want to say." 
 
 Again Milbanke looked helplessly at Clodagh, but 
 her eyes were fixed passionately on her father's face. 
 
 90
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "He'll excite himself more if we cross him," she 
 said, hesitatingly. "I think I'd better go." 
 
 Still Milbanke hesitated. 
 
 "But the doctor?" he hazarded. "If the doctor 
 insists on quiet — " 
 
 She glanced at him quickly, her clear eyes brim- 
 ming. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know!" she exclaimed. "1 can't 
 cross hini. I can't cross him. He's wanted you so 
 badly." 
 
 She turned quickly towards the bed. 
 
 "Father," she said, tenderly, "won't you promise 
 not to talk much ? Won't you promise to take 
 carer 
 
 For answer Asshlin looked up, meeting her glance. 
 
 "I'll promise, child. I'll promise. Run away 
 now — and God bless you!" He added the expressive 
 native phrase in a suddenly lowered voice. 
 
 Clodagh bent quickly and kissed his hot, drawn 
 face with passionate affection; then, as if fearing to 
 trust herself, she turned hastily and passed out of 
 the room. 
 
 Instantly the two men were alone, Asshlin turned 
 to his guest. 
 
 "James," he said, agitatedly, "I haven't thought 
 much about the Almighty in these last years, but I 
 give you my word I have prayed that I might see 
 you before I die." 
 
 "Mv dear Denis, don't! I beg you not to excite 
 yourself. I implore you — " 
 
 Asshlin made a harsh sound of impatience. 
 
 "Don't waste breath over a dying man," he said, 
 roughly. Then, seeing the distress in the other's face, 
 he altered his tone. " Don't take it to heart, James. 
 It's the road we must all travel. They think there's 
 
 91
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 life in me yet, but I know better. You may blind- 
 fold a sheep as much as you like, but 'twill know 
 that you're dragging it to the slaughter. I tell you 
 I'm done for — as done for as if the undertaker had 
 measured me for the coffin." He moved his head 
 slightly and painfully, his feverish glance brightening. 
 
 "James," he exclaimed, suddenly, " I'm in a terrible 
 position! But 'tisn't death that's troubling me." 
 
 "Denis!" 
 
 "'Tis true! I'm not frightened of death — I hope 
 I'm man enough to face a natural law. 'Twould 
 have been better if I'd had to face it thirty years ago." 
 
 "Denis, don't! I beg you to keep quiet — " 
 
 "Quiet? I tell you there's not much quiet for a 
 man like me. 'Tisn't what I'm going to that's 
 troubling me, but what I'm leaving behind. I'll 
 be paying my own score on the other side; but here, 
 'tis others will be paying it for me." 
 
 His burning eyes fixed themselves on Milbanke's. 
 
 "But, my dear old friend — " 
 
 "Don't talk to me, James. Don't waste words 
 on me. I'm broke inside and out. I'm smashed. 
 I'm done for." A spasm of pain, mental and physical, 
 twisted his features. "The weak, worthless egotist 
 has come to the end of his rope!" He tried to laugh. 
 
 Milbanke, in deep apprehension, laid his hand 
 lightly on the other's shoulder. 
 
 "Denis," he pleaded, "don't talk like this! Don't 
 torture yourself like this!" 
 
 Asshlin groaned. 
 
 "'Tis involuntary!" he cried. "'Tis wrung from 
 me. Every time they come into the room — every 
 time I see the tears in their eyes — every time they 
 kiss me, I tell you 1 taste hell." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 92
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 » 
 
 "The children. My children." Another spasm 
 crossed his face. "You once told me I was not fit 
 to have children, James — and you were right. By 
 God, you were right!" 
 
 "Denis, I refuse to listen. I insist — I — " 
 
 "Don't bother yourself! 'Tisn't of my damned 
 health I'm thinking." 
 
 "Then what is it? What is troubling you?" 
 
 "The children^the children. I've been a black- 
 guard. James— a blackguard." He moved his head 
 sharply, regardless of the agony the movement 
 caused. "I tell you I don't care what's before my- 
 self. I've always been a reckless fool. But 'tis the 
 children — the children." 
 
 "What of the children?" 
 
 A sound of mockery and despair escaped Asshlin. 
 
 "Ah, you may well ask," he said. "You may well 
 ask. 'Tis the question I've been putting to myself 
 every hour since they laid me here. You know the 
 world. James. You know what the world will be to 
 two pretty, penniless girls. And they're so un- 
 conscious of it all! That's the sting of it. They're so 
 unconscious of it all! They care for me, they cling 
 to me as if I were a good man, and in five years' time 
 they may be cursing the hour they were born." A 
 fresh groan was wrung from him. 
 
 A look of apprehension crossed Milbanke's face. 
 
 "Oh no, Denis!" he exclaimed, quickly. "No. 
 Things can't be like this. Your suflfering has told 
 upon your nerves. Things can't be like this." 
 
 "They are worse. I tell you these two children 
 will face life without a penny." 
 
 "No, no. You exaggerate. Why, even if you were 
 to die they would still have the place. The place 
 must be worth something." 
 
 93
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 « 
 
 "Ah, if I could only drug my conscience with that 
 thought! But I can't — I can't. Before I'm cold in 
 my grave my creditors will be down on the property 
 like a swarm of rats." 
 
 "No, no." 
 
 "Yes. I tell you yes. The children will be home- 
 less as well as penniless." 
 
 Milbanke glanced about him in deep perplexity. 
 
 "There's your sister-in-law — " he hazarded, at 
 length. 
 
 "Fan?" Asshlin made a contemptuous grimace. 
 " Fan is as poor as a church mouse already. Lawrence 
 had nothing to leave her; the navy beggared him. 
 No, Fan can do nothing for them. And, anyway, she 
 and Clodagh couldn't stand each other for a twelve- 
 month. You might as well try to blend fire and 
 water. No, there's no way out of it. I'm reaping the 
 whirlwind, James. I'm reaping it with a vengeance." 
 
 The fever of his suflfering and the excitement of his 
 remorse were burning in his eyes. In the three days 
 of his illness his natural exuberance of mind had 
 been directed towards one point only — the tardily 
 aroused knowledge of the future that awaited his 
 children. And the consequence had been a piteous 
 intermingling of realization and partial delirium. 
 His agony and helplessness were pitiable as he 
 turned again to his friend. 
 
 "What am I to do, James?" he asked. "What 
 am I to do?" 
 
 Milbanke bent over him. 
 
 "Denis! Denis!" he pleaded. 
 
 "But what am I to do? Advise me while there's 
 time. "'Tis for that I've wanted you. You've al- 
 ways been a good man. What must I do?" 
 
 Milbanke tightened his lips. 
 
 94
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "You have friends," he said. 
 
 "Ah, but how many? And where?" 
 
 There was no response for a moment, as Milbanke 
 slowly straightened himself and glanced across the 
 room towards the fire. Then very quietly he turned 
 towards the bed. 
 
 "You have one — here," he said, in a low voice. 
 
 For an instant Asshlin answered nothing; then an 
 odd sound — something between a laugh and a sob — 
 shook him. 
 
 "James!" he cried. "James!" 
 
 But Milbanke leaned forward hastily. 
 
 "Not a word!" he said. "Not one word! If 
 thanks are due, it is from me to you. It is not 
 every day that human responsibilities fall to an old 
 bachelor of fifty-five." 
 
 Asshlin remained silent. Dissipated, blunted, de- 
 generate though he might be, his native intuition 
 was unimpaired ; and in a flash of illumination he saw 
 the grade of nobility — the high point of honor to 
 which this prosaic, unimaginative man had attained 
 in that moment of need. With a pang of acute pain, 
 he freed his uninjured arm and shakingly held out 
 his hand. 
 
 "There are no friends like the old friends, James," 
 he said, in a broken voice.
 
 XI 
 
 ASSHLIN scarcely spoke again during the early 
 _ portion of that day. The immense effort of 
 his explanation to Milbanke left him correspondingly 
 weak; though through all his exhaustion a look of 
 peace and satisfaction was visible in his eyes. 
 
 During the whole morning Milbanke remained at 
 his bedside, only leaving the room to partake — at 
 Clodagh's urgent request — of a hurried meal in the 
 deserted dining-room. At twelve o'clock the nurse 
 resumed her duties, and soon afterwards the dis- 
 pensary doctor from Carrigmore drove over to see 
 his patient. Before he came into the sick - room 
 Milbanke left it; but when — his examination over — 
 he departed with a whispered injunction to the nurse, 
 he found the stranger waiting for him in the corridor. 
 
 Milbanke stepped forward quickly as he appeared, 
 and silently motioned him down the passage to his 
 own room, inviting him to enter with a punctilious 
 gesture. 
 
 "Dr. Gallagher, I believe?" he said. "Allow me 
 to introduce myself. My name is Milbanke. I am 
 a very old friend of your patient." 
 
 With a slow but friendly gesture the young man 
 held out his hand. 
 
 "Oh, 1 know all about you," he said. "I'm glad 
 to make your acquaintance." 
 
 His voice, with its marked Irish accent, was soft 
 
 96
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 and pleasant and his glance was good-natured; but 
 his tanned skin and rough shooting-suit suggested the 
 sportsman rather than the medical practitioner. 
 
 Milbanke eyed him quickly. 
 
 "Then you won't misunderstand anything I may 
 say?" 
 
 Gallagher smiled. 
 
 "Not a bit of it," he answered, nonchalantly. "And, 
 what's more, 1 think I know what it's going to be." 
 
 A shade of confusion passed over the Englishman's 
 face. His understanding was still unattuned to the 
 half-shrewd, half-inquisitive tendencies of the Celtic 
 mind. With a shadowy suspicion that he was being 
 unobtrusively ridiculed, he became a degree colder. 
 
 "I am grieved beyond measure at Mr. Asshlin's 
 condition, Dr. Gallagher," he said, "and it has struck 
 me — it as been suggested to my mind that possibly " 
 — he stopped uncertainly — "that possibly — " 
 
 "That perhaps there ought to be another opinion ?" 
 Gallagher looked at him complacently. "Well, may- 
 be you're right. 'Tisn't because / condemn him that 
 he shouldn't appeal to a higher court." 
 
 Milbanke started. 
 
 "Then you think poorly of his chances?" 
 
 Gallagher shook his head expressivelv. 
 
 "You despair of him?" 
 
 A pang of unexpected grief touched Milbanke. He 
 realized suddenly how distant, vague, and yet how 
 real a part the ideal of his youth had played in his 
 life and thoughts; how deep a niche, unknown to 
 them both, Asshlin had carved for himself. With a 
 sense of loss altogether disproportionate to circum- 
 stances, he turned again to the doctor. 
 
 "Yes, I should like another opmion," he said, 
 quickly. "The best we can get — the best m Ireland. 
 7 97
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 We can't get a man from town sooner than to- 
 morrow, and time is everything. I suppose Dubhn is 
 the place to wire to ? Not that I am disparaging 
 you," he added. "I feel confident you have done 
 everything." 
 
 Gallagher smiled. 
 
 "Oh. I'm not taking offence. It's only human 
 nature to think what you do. I'll meet any one you 
 like to name. But he'll say the same as me." 
 
 "And that is?" 
 
 "That's he's done for." Gallagher lowered his 
 voice. " He hasn't the stamina to pull through, even 
 if we could patch him up. He's been undermining 
 that big frame of his for the last ten years. No 
 man nowadays can sit up all night drinking port 
 without paying heavily for it. Many a time, driving 
 home from a late call, I've seen the light in these 
 windows at three in the morning." 
 
 Milbanke pulled out his watch. 
 
 "But these Dublin doctors," he said. "Tell me 
 their names." 
 
 Gallagher pondered a moment. 
 
 "Well, there's Dowden-Gregg and Merrick," he 
 said. "And of course there's Molyneaux. Moly- 
 neaux is a magnificent surgeon. If any man in 
 Ireland can make a suggestion, he will. But of course 
 his fee—" 
 
 Milbanke interrupted sharply. 
 
 "Molyneaux let it be," he said, decisively. "Wire 
 for him when you get back to Carrigmore. Wire 
 urgently. The expenses will be my affair. What 
 they may amount to is of no consideration." 
 
 A look of involuntary respect crossed Gallagher's 
 face. 
 
 "I understand." he said. "I'll wire at once. And 
 
 98
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 you can comfort yourself that you'll have the host 
 opinion in the country." 
 
 He nodded genially, the new consideration for AIil- 
 banke tingeing his usually careless manner, and with 
 an inaudible word of farewell turned on his heel. 
 
 Once alone, Milbanke went in search of Clodagh. 
 He suffered no small trepidation at the thought of 
 communicating his action to her. and he bestowed 
 much silent consideration upon the manner in which 
 he should couch his information. Failing to find her 
 in the house, he wandered out into the grounds. The 
 rain had ceased and a watery gleam of sunshine was 
 falling on the wet gravel of the drive. Picking his 
 way carefully, he turned in the direction of the yard; 
 but he had scarcely reached the entrance when 
 Clodagh's clear voice reached him, directing Burke as 
 to some provisions required from Muskeere. 
 
 On seeing her guest, she came forward at once. 
 Her face looked brighter and happier than he had 
 seen it since his arrival. Her mercurial nature had 
 responded instantly to the apparent change in 
 Asshlin. 
 
 "Oh, isn't it lovely that he's so much better?" she 
 cried. "You must have the gift of healing; it's 
 like as if you had set a charm." 
 
 Milbanke made no response. 
 
 "Why don't you say something?" she asked, 
 quickly. "Don't you think he's better? Doesn't 
 the doctor think he's better?" 
 
 Her quick mind sprang like lightning from one 
 conclusion to another. 
 
 "Mr. Milbanke," she added, "you're keeping some- 
 thing back! There's something vou don't like to 
 say!" 
 
 Then at last Milbanke found voice. 
 
 99
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Indeed, no, Miss Clodagh. You are wrong — 
 ' quite wrong, believe me. There is nothing to be 
 alarmed at — nothing. It is only — " 
 
 "Only what?" 
 
 "Now don't be alarmed! I beg you not to be 
 alarmed!" The sudden whiteness that had over- 
 spread her face unnerved him. "It is only that I, 
 as a Londoner, am a little doubtful of your village 
 doctor. A mere prejudice, I know. But Gallagher 
 is broad-minded and willing to humor me. And 
 he — I — that is, we both think that another opinion 
 will do no harm. It's nothing to be alarmed at. 
 Nothing, believe me. A mere formality." 
 
 But Clodagh's lips had paled. She stood looking 
 at him silently, her large, questioning eyes reminding 
 him disconcertingly of Asshlin's. 
 
 "Miss Clodagh," he said again, "don't be alarmed! 
 Don't be alarmed! It's only to satisfy an old 
 sceptic." 
 
 "Oh no, it isn't," she said, suddenly. "Oh no, it 
 isn't. I know; I know quite well. It means that 
 he's going to die." 
 
 Her voice caught. Then, with a swift movement, 
 she turned and fled out of the yard, leaving Milbanke 
 pained, bewildered, and alarmed. 
 
 The afternoon passed in weary, monotonous wait- 
 ing. Half an hour after the conversation in the yard 
 Clodagh appeared in her father's room. She was 
 pale and subdued and her eyelids looked suspiciously 
 red, but she took her place quietly at the foot of the 
 bed. She sat very still, her eyes fixed on Asshlin's 
 face, apparently heedless of both the nurse's deft 
 movements and Milbanke's silent, unobtrusive pres- 
 ence. At three o'clock the acute pains that had 
 
 ICO
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 tormented the patient at intervals ever since the 
 accident had occurred returned upon him with a 
 violence that seemed accentuated by the respite he 
 had obtained during the morning. For an hour or 
 more he writhed and groaned in unspeakable agony, 
 while those about him suffered a reflected torment, 
 and chafed impotently at the distance that cut off 
 Carrigmore and the possibility of any fresh medical 
 relief. The nurse was unceasingly vigilant ; but the 
 mild and cautious remedies ordered by Gallagher 
 were powerless to soothe the violent pain. At last 
 nature mercifully intervened and the exhausted 
 sufferer fell into a sleep that lasted for several hours. 
 
 At seven o'clock there was a stir of excitement 
 through the house as the whisper passed from one to 
 another that the Dublin surgeon had arrived. When 
 the news reached the sick - room Milbanke drew a 
 breath of intense relief; but Clodagh's pale face went 
 a shade whiter. 
 
 The great man arrived, attended by Gallagher, and 
 was shown directly to his patient's room. There 
 was a confused moment of introduction; then Mil- 
 banke and Clodagh slipped quietly into the passage, 
 leaving the doctors and nurse to their work. 
 
 During a full hour of indescribable suspense 
 Molyneaux made his examination. Then, without 
 a word, he and Gallagher emerged from the room and 
 descended solemnly to the dining-room. 
 
 "\yhile this final conference lasted Clodagh — who 
 had returned to her vigil immediately the doctors had 
 left the sick-room — sat silent and motionless beside 
 the bed; outside in the corridor Mrs. Asshlin wan- 
 dered to and fro, weakly tearful and agitated, while 
 Nance stood beside her father's door, afraid to enter 
 and yet reluctant to remain outside. Down-stairs in 
 
 lOI
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 the hall Milbanke paced up and down in nervous 
 perturbation, awaiting his summons to the conclave. 
 
 At last, after an interval of unbearable length, the 
 door opened and Gallagher looked otit. 
 
 "Mr. Milbanke," he said, "Dr. Molyneaux would 
 like to see you." 
 
 With a little start of agitation Milbanke went 
 forward at once. 
 
 In the dining-room a great peat fire was burning as 
 usual, lighting up the faces of Asshlin's ancestors, but 
 the candles in the silver sconces were unlighted and 
 the window-curtains had not been drawn. In the 
 dull light from the three long windows the large, 
 placid face of Molyneaux looked preternaturally long 
 and solemn. Milbanke felt his heart sink. 
 
 In formal silence the great man rose and motioned 
 him forward, and the three sat down at the centre table. 
 
 "Mr. Milbanke," he began, in slow and unctuous 
 tones, "I suppose you would like me to come to the 
 point with as little delay as possible ? Professional 
 details will not interest you." 
 
 Milbanke nodded mechanically. 
 
 Molyneaux hesitated, studying his well-kept hands ; 
 then he looked up with the decorous reserve proper to 
 the occasion. 
 
 "I regret to inform you, Mr. Milbanke." he said, 
 softly, "that my visit is of little — I might say of no — 
 avail. Dr.— er- — Gallagher's diagnosis of the case is 
 satisfactory — perfectly satisfactory. Beyond miti- 
 gating his sufferings, I fear we can do nothing for our 
 poor friend." 
 
 "Nothing?" Milbanke felt a sudden dryness in 
 his throat. 
 
 Molyneaux shook his head with becoming gravity. 
 
 "Nothing, Mr. Milbanke. The injuries to the ribs, 
 
 102
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 arm, and lup wc might have coped with, but the seat 
 of the trouble lies deeper. The internal — " 
 
 But Milbanke held up his hand. 
 
 "I beg you to give me no details." he said, weakl3^ 
 "This — this is a great shock to me." 
 
 He covered his face witli liis hand and sat silent for 
 a few seconds. 
 
 Molyneaux tapped lightly upon the table with his 
 finger-tips. 
 
 " It was merely that your mind might be fully 
 satisfied, Mr. Milbanke," he said, a trifle pompouslv. 
 
 Milbanke started. 
 
 "Forgive me," he said. "I understand — I fully 
 understand. It is only the thought of what lies be- 
 fore us— the thought of his children's grief — " 
 
 Molyneaux made a gracious gesture of compre- 
 hension 
 
 "Ah, yes," he murmured. "Very distressing! Most 
 distressing!" 
 
 He looked vaguely round the room ; and Gallagher, 
 as if anticipating his thought, pulled out his watch. 
 
 Milbanke rose quickly. 
 
 "I thank you very much, Dr. Molyneaux," he said, 
 "for your — your valuable opinion. I think Miss 
 Asshlin wishes to know if your train will permit vou 
 to partake of some dinner before you leave us." 
 
 Molyneaux smiled with the air of a man who has 
 put an unpleasant duty aside. 
 
 "Ah, thank you," he said, suavely. "Thank you. 
 If Dr. — Gallagher gives me permission I shall be 
 charmed. He understands your local time - tables, 
 and has promised that I shall catch the night train 
 to Dublin." 
 
 He smiled again and glanced genially round the 
 firelit room. 
 
 103
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 " What interesting family portraits our poor friend 
 possesses!" he added, with pleasant affability. 
 
 But Milbanke did not seem to hear. 
 
 "If you will excuse me for a moment," he said, 
 hastily, " I will see that you are caused no unnecessary 
 delay. You can understand that we — that we are a 
 somewhat demoralized household." His voice was 
 agitated, his step uneven, as he crossed the room and 
 passed into the hall. 
 
 Molyneaux followed him with a conventional glance 
 of sympathy ; then his eyes turned again to the pict- 
 ures with the gratified glance of a dilettante. 
 
 "Do you happen to know if this is a Reynolds?" 
 he said to Gallagher, rising and crossing the room.
 
 XII 
 
 T(.) the last day of his Hfe, that evening with its 
 horde of harassing and unfamihar sensations 
 remained stamped upon Milbanke's mind ; and not 
 least among the unpleasant recollections was the 
 visit of Molyneaux and the dinner at which he 
 himself unwillingly played host. 
 
 It may have been that his usually placid suscepti- 
 bilities had undergone a strain that rendered him 
 oversensitive; but whatever the cause, the atmos- 
 phere diffused by the great man jarred upon him. In 
 his eyes it seemed little short of callous that one who 
 had just passed sentence of death upon his patient 
 could so far remain unmoved as to partake with 
 relish of the dinner set before him, and comment with 
 affable appreciation upon the quality of the patient's 
 wines. 
 
 Milbanke spoke little during the course of that 
 meal. Try as he might to enact the part intrusted 
 to him, his thoughts persistently wandered to the 
 room up-stairs with its doomed sufferer and its 
 anxious watchers, as yet mercifully ignorant of the 
 ^ erdict that had been pronounced. But if the host 
 was silent, the guests made conversation. Gallagher 
 was assiduous in his attentions to the man who, in 
 his eyes, stood lor the attainment nf all ambition; 
 and Molyneaux — under the unlooked-for stimulus of 
 good, if homely, food, and wines that even as an
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 epicure he admitted to be remarkable — was graciously 
 pleased to accept the homage of his humble colleague, 
 and to display a suave glimpse of the polished wit for 
 which he was noted in society. 
 
 His expressions of regret were perfectly genuine 
 when at last the sound of wheels on the gravel of the 
 drive broke in upon his discourse, and Gallagher 
 'deprecatingly drew out his watch. 
 
 "The way of the world, Mr. Milbanke," he mur- 
 mured as he rose. "Our pleasantest acquaintances 
 end the soonest. I must wish you good-bye — with 
 many thanks for your delightful hospitality. So far 
 as our poor friend is concerned," he added, in a 
 correctly altered tone, "Dr. Gallagher may be relied 
 upon to do everything. In a case like this, where 
 physical pain is recurrent and violent, we can only 
 have recourse to narcotics. We have already allayed 
 the suffering consequent on my examination and you 
 may rely upon some hours of calm; for any subse- 
 quent contingency Dr. Gallagher has my instructions. 
 Of course, if you wish me to have one more glimpse 
 at him before I go — " 
 
 But Milbanke, who had also risen, held out his 
 hand mechanically. 
 
 "Oh no!" he said, quietly. "No, thank you. I 
 don't think we will trouble you any further. It has 
 been a great satisfaction to have obtained your — 
 your opinion." 
 
 Molyneaux waved his hand magnanimously. 
 
 "Do not mention it," he murmured. "My regret 
 is deep that I have been of so little avail. Good-bye 
 again, Mr. Milbanke. It has been an honor as well 
 as a pleasure to meet you." 
 
 He smiled blandly and added the last remark as 
 Gallagher solicitously helped him into his fur-lined 
 
 io6
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 travelling-coat. Then, still suavely genial, he passed 
 out of the dining-room towards the hall-door. 
 
 Gallagher hurried after him, but in passing Mil- 
 banke he paused. 
 
 "I'll be back in an hour, Mr. Milbanke," he said. 
 "I'm just going as far as Carrigmore with Dr. Moly- 
 neaux to get an additional supply of morphia." 
 
 Milbanke nodded silently and in his turn stepped 
 into the hall. 
 
 When the two men had entered the waiting vehicle ; 
 when Molyneaux had waved a courtly farewell and 
 the coachman had gathered u]) the reins, he turned 
 and slowly began to mount the stairs. 
 
 Instantly his foot touched the landing, Mrs. 
 Asshlin darted from the shadowy corridor. 
 
 "What news?" she asked, agitatedly. "Oh, Mr. 
 Milbanke, what news? The suspense has been 
 dreadful." 
 
 Her voice trembled. Tears came very easily to 
 Mrs. Asshlin, and her habitual attitude of mourning 
 had heretofore irritated Milbanke. But now her thin 
 face and faded black garments came as a curiously 
 welcome contrast to the bland affluence, the genial, 
 complacent superiority of Molyneaux. He turned to 
 her with a feeling of warmth. 
 
 "Forgive my delay, Mrs. Asshlin!" he said, gently. 
 "One is never in a hurry to impart bad news. Dr. 
 Molyneaux holds out no hope — not a shadow of hope." 
 
 There was a pause, then Mrs. Asshlin made a 
 tragic gesture. 
 
 "Oh, the children!" she murmured. "The poor, 
 poor children! What will become of them?" 
 
 "The children will be provided for," Milbanke 
 said, hastilv. Then, without giving her time for ques- 
 tion or astonishment, he went on again. 
 
 107
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Don't say anything of this to Clodagh," he en- 
 joined. "She must have these last hours in peace." 
 
 "Certainly! Certainly! Poor Denis! Poor Denis! 
 I always said he would have an unfortunate end. 
 But go in and see him, Mr. Milbanke; Clodagh is in 
 the room." 
 
 Milbanke silently acquiesced and moved slowly 
 down the corridor. 
 
 At the door of her father's room he found Nance 
 still patiently watchful. He paused, arrested by 
 his new sense of obligation, and looked down into 
 the upturned, wistful little face. 
 
 "What are you doing here, Nance?" he asked, 
 kindly. 
 
 She made a valiant attempt to conjure up her 
 pretty, winning smile, but her lips began to tremble. 
 
 "I don't know," she said, shyly and softly; then 
 in a sudden burst of confidence she stepped close to 
 him, 
 
 "Clo doesn't like me to go in," she murmured. 
 "She thinks it makes me sad to see father; and I 
 don't know where to go. I'd be in Hannah's way in 
 the kitchen, and I don't like being with Aunt Fan, and 
 — and I'm frightened to be by myself. There's a 
 horrid sort of feeling in the house." 
 
 Her dark-blue eyes searched Milbanke's face appeal- 
 ingly ; and with a sensation of pity and protection he 
 stooped and took one of her cold, limp hands in his. 
 
 "You may come in," he said, gently. "It is very 
 lonely out here. I think we can make Clodagh 
 understand." 
 
 Without hesitation her fingers closed round his in a 
 movement of confidence and gratitude, and together 
 they passed into the room where Asshlin lay peace- 
 fully under the influence of the narcotic administered 
 
 io8
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 by Molyneaux. By Gallagher's orders the nurse — 
 who had been deprived of her necessary rest in the 
 morning — had retired to her room again in prep- 
 aration for the night, and only Clodagh was in at- 
 tendance. Having quietly closed the door, Milbanke 
 halted hesitatingly, expecting a fiood of questions. 
 But to his intense surprise she did not even glance in 
 his direction. She sat motionless and pale, her eyes 
 on her father's face, her attitude stiff and almost 
 defiant. He wondered for a moment whether, by 
 the power of instinct, she had divined Molyneaux's 
 verdict, or whether, through some source unknown to 
 him, the news of it had already reached her. With a 
 sense of trepidation, he tightened his fingers round 
 Nance's small hand and drew her silently into a 
 corner of the room. 
 
 For more than an hour the three watchers sat 
 regarding their patient. No one attempted to speak 
 — no one appeared to have anything to say. Once 
 or twice Mrs. Asshlin flitted agitatedly in and out 
 of the room, but none of them took heed of her 
 presence. Occasionally a clock struck in the silent 
 house or a cinder fell from the fire, causing them all 
 to start nervously. But except for these interrup- 
 tions the quiet was preternatural. 
 
 It was with a throb of relief at his heart that 
 Milbanke at last caught the sound of Gallagher's 
 horse trotting up the avenue, and knew by the 
 shutting of the hall-door that the doctor had entered 
 the house. 
 
 He walked into the sick-room a few minutes later, 
 and, with a casual nod to all present, moved at once 
 to the bed. 
 
 Bending over Asshlin, he felt his pulse, then glanced 
 significantly at Milbanke, who had risen on his entrance. 
 
 109
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "I think we must inject a stimulant," he said. 
 "The pulse is a little weak." 
 
 With a faint sound of consternation Clodagh 
 stood up. 
 
 "Oh, he's not worse?" she said. "Dr. Gallagher, 
 he's not worse?" 
 
 Gallagher looked at her and his expression changed. 
 The distress of a pretty girl is always difficult to resist. 
 
 "No, Miss Asshlin," he said, kindly. "No. You 
 see, he has gone through a lot. We must expect him 
 to be weak." 
 
 Clodagh looked relieved, though the alarm still 
 lingered in her eyes. 
 
 "Of course," she said. "Yes, of course. Is there 
 anything I can do?" 
 
 Gallagher glanced at her again. 
 
 "Well," he said, quietly, "perhaps you will call the 
 nurse for me ? There's no real need for her, but it is 
 just as well we should have her on the spot." 
 
 Again Clodagh's eyes darkened with apprehension, 
 but she made no remark. Signalling to Nance to fol- 
 low her, she left the room. 
 
 As the two girls disappeared, Gallagher bent again 
 over Asshlin, making another rapid examination; 
 then once more he glanced up at Milbanke. 
 
 "He may not last the night," he said, below his 
 breath. "Molyneaux expected that it wouldn't be a 
 long business, but we didn't look for the change so 
 soon as this." 
 
 Milbanke did not alter his position. 
 
 "You'll stay on, of course," he said, mechanically. 
 
 "Yes. Oh yes. I'll stay on." 
 
 As he said the last word Clodagh reappeared. 
 
 "The nurse will be here in a minute," she said, in a 
 steady voice. 
 
 I lO
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 The unrelaxed, monotonous vigil lasted until two 
 o'clock; then, as Asshlin showed a disposition to rally, 
 the doctor asserted his authority and dismissed Mrs. 
 Asshlin, Nance, and Milbanke for a much - needed 
 rest — Clodagh alone refusing to leave the room. 
 
 Though he would not have admitted it, the com- 
 mand came as a boon to Milbanke. His long and 
 arduous journey, coupled with the strain and excite- 
 ment of the day and evening, had culminated in 
 intense weariness; and when Gallagher's order came 
 it would have been a superhuman effort to offer any 
 I>rotest. 
 
 Reaching his room, he took off his boots, and, 
 partially undressing, threw himself upon his bed. 
 
 How many hours he slept the deep sleep of utter 
 exhaustion he did not know. His first effort at 
 awaking consciousness was a thrill of nervous fright 
 that made him sit up in bed, aware with a sudden 
 shock that some one was knockng imperativelv on 
 his door and calling him by name in low, agitated 
 tones. 
 
 "Mr. Milbanke! Mr. Milbanke! Wake, please! 
 Quick! Mr. Milbanke!" 
 
 He stared into the darkness for an instant in 
 dazed apprehension ; then he sHd out of bed, fumbling 
 blindly for his dressing-gown. 
 
 "Coming!" he called. "Coming!" 
 
 Having found the garment he crossed the room 
 stumblingly, thrusting his arms into the sleeves as he 
 went. 
 
 Opening the door, he realized the situation with a 
 sick sinking of the heart. Clodagh stood in the 
 corridor with a blanched face, holding a candle in her 
 shaking hand. 
 
 " Oh, come, please!" she exclaimed. " Come quick!" 
 
 1 1 1
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Without a word he stepped forward, and the two 
 hvirried down the passage. 
 
 In the sick-room the fire was glowing and addi- 
 tional candles had been lighted. For a second 
 Milbanke paused at the door; then as his eyes grew 
 accustomed to the access of light, the scene became 
 clear to him. On the bed lay Asshlin, his head partly 
 propped up by pillows, his eyes wide, his breath 
 coming in slow, difficult gasps; Gallagher was mov- 
 ing about the room with more quickness and deft- 
 ness than the Englishman could have believed pos- 
 sible; Mrs. Asshlin, unnerved, and yet fascinated, 
 leaned upon the end of the bed ; while Nance — cry- 
 ing silently — followed the nurse to and fro in dazed, 
 half- comprehending fear; and Hannah, the house- 
 hold factotum, crouched behind the door, weeping 
 and murmuring inarticulate prayers. 
 
 The picture turned Milbanke cold. With an in- 
 stinctive gesture he paused with the intention of 
 shielding it from Clodagh's sight. But at the very 
 moment that he turned towards her a convulsion 
 shook the dying man. He suddenly lifted himself 
 in bed, his eyes staring wildly; then, as Gallagher 
 rushed forward, a hoarse sound escaped him, his head 
 fell forward, and his body collapsed in the doctor's 
 arms. 
 
 There was a breathless, appalled silence — a silence 
 that seemed to extend over years. At last Gallagher 
 looked up. 
 
 "It's all over," he said, in a hushed voice. 
 
 For a minute no one spoke, no one moved. It 
 seemed as if the whole room was petrified. Then 
 Gallagher quietly laid the body back upon the pillows, 
 and as though the action broke the spell, Clodagh 
 gave a sudden sharp cry and ran forward to the bed, 
 
 112
 
 XIII 
 
 THE three days that followed Asshlin's death re- 
 solved themselves into so many hours of gloom 
 and confusion that found their culmination in the 
 funeral ceremony. 
 
 To Irishmen of every class a funeral is invested with 
 an almost symbolic importance, and a solemn con- 
 sideration is bestowed upon its most minute details. 
 But Milbanke, deeply imbued with the horror and 
 suddenness of the whole disaster, was filled with a 
 growing astonishment at the numberless prelimina- 
 ries — the amount of precedence and prestige requiring 
 consideration before one poor human body can be 
 hidden away. And he rose dutifullv to the occasion 
 and proved himself unfailingly patient and con- 
 scientious in every emergency, from the first repug- 
 nant interview with the undertaker to the woful 
 breakfast, partaken of in the early hours of the 
 funeral morning, with the curtains drawn across 
 the dining-room windows and the candles in the 
 massive silver sconces shedding an imnatural light 
 upon the table laden with eatables. 
 
 The guests who partook of this meal were men of 
 varied and interesting types; but whatex'er their 
 characteristic differences it was remarkable that the 
 same air of responsibility and solemnity inspired 
 them all. It did not matter that many of them had 
 been personal enemies of the dead man; that many, 
 8 1 13
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 with that jealous distrust of unconventionality that 
 reigns in Ireland, had markedly drawn away from 
 him in the last ten years of his life ; death had oblit- 
 erated everything. Asshlin's eccentricities, his law- 
 lessness, his contempt for the little world in which he 
 lived were all forgotten. He was one of themselves — 
 deserving, in death at least, the same consideration 
 that the county had bestowed upon his father, his 
 grandfather, and those who had gone before them. 
 
 The faces of these men were unfamiliar to Mil- 
 banke; though each on entering the dining-room 
 shook him cordially and sympathetically by the hand. 
 The meal was partaken of almost in silence; and it 
 was with obvious relief that, one after another, the 
 members of the party rose from table and passed 
 into the darkened hall and from thence to the sweep 
 of gravelled drive that fronted the house, where the 
 less privileged of those who had come to do Asshlin 
 honor lounged singly or in groups. 
 
 The funeral was timed to start at nine; but the 
 concourse of mourners — well accustomed to the 
 delays inevitable on such an occasion — evinced no 
 sign of impatience when half-past nine and then ten 
 drew on an'I no move had yet been made. 
 
 But all things come to those who understand the 
 art of patience. At a quarter-past ten a thrill gal- 
 vanized the lethargic crowd, and with the knowledge 
 that the great moment for which they waited had 
 at last arrived, the men began to jostle one another 
 and push forward towards the house, while all hats 
 were respectfully removed. 
 
 A faint murmur of admiration and awe went up 
 from the gathering as the great, brass-bound coffin 
 was borne solemnly through the door and laid upon 
 the open bier. In silence Milbanke and young 
 
 114
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Laurence Asshlin took their places as chief mourners, 
 and with the inevitable confusion and uncertainty 
 of such a moment, the crowd of men and vehicles 
 formed up behind them; the horses under the bier 
 moved slowly forward, and the body of Denis Asshlin 
 passed for the last time down the avenue and through 
 the gates of Orristown. 
 
 The funeral over, Milbanke walked Ijack from 
 Carrigmore alone. The servants who had followed 
 their master to his resting-place in the old graveyard 
 had remained in the village to enjoy the importance 
 that the occasion lent them; young Asshlin had dis- 
 appeared at the conclusion of the burial service ; while 
 the daughters and sister-in-law of the dead man — in 
 accordance with the custom of the country — had 
 remained secluded in their own rooms at Orristown, 
 appearing neither at the breakfast nor the funeral. 
 
 In a house of death the hours that succeed the 
 burial are, if possible, even more melancholy than 
 those that precede it. The sensations of awe and 
 responsibility have been dispersed, but as yet it is 
 impossible to resume the commonplace routine of life. 
 As Milbanke passed through the gateway and walked 
 up the drive, ploughed into new furrows by the long 
 procession of cars that had followed the coffin, he was 
 deeply sensitive to this impression; and it fell upon 
 him afresh with a chill of desolation as he entered 
 the door, still standing open, and moved slowly across 
 the deserted hall. 
 
 In the dining-room the curtains had been drawn 
 back and the candles extinguished, but the day- 
 light seemed to fall tardily and unnaturally upon the 
 room after its three days' exclusion. He stood for a 
 moment looking at the debris of the breakfast that 
 
 115
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 had not yet been removed, at the disarray of the 
 chairs that had been hurriedly vacated; then, with 
 a fresh and poignant sense of loss and loneliness, he 
 turned hastily and walked out of the room. 
 
 In the hall he attempted to pause afresh; but 
 the sound of muffled sobbing from the upper portion 
 of the house sent him incontinently forth into the 
 open. With an overwhelming desire for human 
 fellowship — for any companionship in this abode of 
 desolation — he passed without consideration of his 
 dignity round the corner of the house in the direction 
 of the stable-yard. 
 
 He walked calmly, but there was a pucker of 
 anxiety on his usually placid brow — an expression of 
 concern, apart from actual sorrow, in his tightly set 
 lips. To the most casual observer it would have been 
 obvious that something weighed upon his mind. 
 
 Still moving with his habitual precision he entered 
 the yard by the arched gateway, picking his way be- 
 tween the scattered array of rubbish, food, and im- 
 plements that encumbered the ground. 
 
 When he appeared a dozen rough or glossy heads 
 were thrust out of kennels or out-houses, as the dogs 
 accorded him a noisy welcome; but paying only 
 partial heed to their demonstrations, he passed on to 
 the vast coach-house, with the vague hope that some 
 laborer connected with the farm or stables might 
 possibly have been left behind in the general exodus. 
 But here again he was doomed to disappointment. 
 The coach-house with its walls festooned with rotting 
 harness, its ghostly row of cumbersome, antiquated 
 vehicles, was as empty of human presence as the 
 yard itself. 
 
 Conscious of the isolation that hung over the place, 
 disproportionately aware of his own aimlessness, he 
 
 ii6
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 stood uncertain in what direction to turn. For the 
 moment tlie household had no need of him; there 
 were no legal formalities to succeed the funeral, 
 Asshlin having left no will ; and of personal duties he 
 had none to claim his attention. 
 
 He stood by the coach - house door wofully un- 
 decided as to his next move, when all at once relief 
 came to him from the most unexpected quarter of the 
 out-buildings. One of the dairy windows was oi)ened 
 sharply, and a head was thrust through the aperture. 
 
 " Wisha, what is it you're doin' there, sir?" a voice 
 demanded, kindly. "Sure that ould yard is no lit 
 place for you." 
 
 Turning hastily, Milbanke saw the broad, plain 
 face of Hannah, her small eyes red, her rough cheeks 
 stained with weeping. 
 
 "Why, Hannah!" he exclaimed. "What are you 
 doing here? I thought you were at the funeral!" 
 
 Hannah passed the back of her hand across her eyes. 
 
 "Wisha, what would I be doin' at it?" she de- 
 manded, huskily. "Sure I don't know what they do 
 be seein' in funerals at all." 
 
 Milbanke glanced up with interest, recognizing the 
 originality of the remark. 
 
 "Why, you and I are of the same opinion," he said. 
 "The Celtic delight in the obsequies of a friend has 
 been puzzling me for the last three days — " Then he 
 paused suddenly, conscious of Hannah's fixed regard. 
 "That is" — he substituted quickly — "that is, I have 
 been wondering, like you, what they see in it." 
 
 Hannah's small, observant eyes did not waver in 
 their scrutiny. 
 
 "You've been wonderin' about somethin', sure 
 enough!" she said. "I seen it myself every time I'd 
 be carryin' in the dinner, or doin' a turn for the poor 
 
 117
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 corpse. God be good to him this holy and blessed 
 day!" Again she wiped her eyes. "But 'tisn't won- 
 derin' alone that's at you," she added, more briskly. 
 " 'Tis some other thing that's lyin' heavy on your 
 mind. I seen it meself at every hand's turn." 
 
 Milbanke started. This sympathetic onslaught was 
 as disconcerting as it was unexpected. 
 
 "I — I won't contradict you, Hannah," he said, 
 waveringly. " No doubt you are right." 
 
 For the space of a minute Hannah was profoundly 
 silent; then she broached the subject that had been 
 filling her mind for a day and a half. 
 
 "Wisha, now, is it thrue what they do be tellin' 
 me?" she asked, softly and warily. "That you're 
 goin' to be father and mother an' all to thim two poor 
 children ?" 
 
 Again Milbanke started almost guiltily; then the 
 personal anxiety that mingled with and almost 
 dominated his grief for Asshlin rose irrepressibly in 
 response to the persuasive tones, the kindly human 
 interest and curiosity. 
 
 "Yes, Hannah," he said, quickly. "Yes, it is 
 my intention to try and fill my poor friend's place." 
 
 The tears welled suddenly into Hannah's eyes, and 
 with an awkward movement she wiped her rough 
 hand in her apron and held it out. 
 
 "God Almighty will give it back to you, sir!" 
 she exclaimed, with impulsive fervor. 
 
 Strangely touched by the expression of under- 
 standing and appreciation, he responded to the gesture 
 and took her hand. 
 
 But instantly she withdrew it. 
 
 "Don't be mindin' an ould woman like me, sir," 
 she said, deprecatingly. "'Twas the thought of the 
 children that come over me. I couldn't help it. 
 
 ii8
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 I had the both of thim in me arms before they could 
 cry. Small wonder me heart would be in thim! 
 Many's the sad day I put over me, thinkin' what 
 would become of thim, wid the poor masther goin' 
 to the bad. God forgive me for say in' it! And sure 
 now 'tis all settled and done for — and the heavth of 
 it ofif of our minds. Praise be to God!" 
 
 She paused to dry her tears. 
 
 " And what would you be thinkin' to do wid thim ?" 
 she asked, presently, in a new and more personal 
 tone. 
 
 Milbanke did not answer at once. His eyes strayed 
 uneasily from one object in the yard to another, while 
 the frown of perplexity that had puckered his brow 
 since Asshlin's death reappeared more prominently 
 than before. At last, with a certain expression of 
 puzzled resolution, he looked up and met Hannah's 
 attentive gaze. 
 
 "To tell you the truth, Hannah," he said, "that is 
 the precise question I have been asking myself ever 
 since your poor master died." 
 
 There was a wait of some seconds while his listener 
 digested the information; then she nodded her head 
 with slow impressiveness. 
 
 " I seen it meself," she said again. " Sure, I seen it 
 as plain as daylight. 'There's somethin' on his 
 mind,' I says to meself. 'An' if it isn't the poor 
 masther's death,' I says, 'thin it's nothin' more nor 
 less than the natural feelin's of a single gentleman 
 that finds himself wid two grown daughters.'" 
 
 It was characteristic of Milbanke that he did not 
 smile. He recognized only one fact in the old 
 servant's words — the fact that the state of affairs over 
 which he had been worrying in lonely perplexity had 
 suddenly been accurately, if roughly, voiced by some 
 
 119
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 one else. He glanced up with quick relief into the 
 round red face framed in the dairy window. 
 
 "Hannah," he said, honestly, "your surmise was 
 perfectly correct." 
 
 For the first time a smile broke over her tear- 
 stained face. 
 
 " I was right, thin ? 'Tis the children was troublin' 
 you?" 
 
 A sharp gleam of inquiry shot from her eyes. 
 
 "Yes," he answered, simply. 
 
 "An' why, now?" Again her tone changed, the 
 irrepressible undercurrent of native humor, native 
 inquisitiveness and familiarity welling out uncon- 
 sciously. "Sure, they're good children." 
 
 "I do not doubt it. I do not doubt it for one 
 moment." 
 
 "But they're troublin' you all the same?" 
 
 "Well, yes. Yes, I confess they are troubling me." 
 
 "Both of thim?" she asked, innocently. 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 "Well, no," he replied, artlessly. "No, not both 
 of them." 
 
 "Ah, I thought that same!" Hannah gave a nod 
 of complacent understanding. "Sure, 'twas to be 
 tormentin' men she was brought into the world for. 
 I said so meself the first day I took her into me arms." 
 
 "But — but I haven't said anything. How do you 
 know that it is — " 
 
 "How do I know that it's Miss Clodagh that's 
 botherin' you? Sure, how do I know that you're 
 standin' before me ? Faith, by the use of me eyesight. 
 Haven't I seen you lookin' at her and ponderin' — 
 and lookin' at her ag'in ?" 
 
 Milbanke's lips tightened and he drew himself up. 
 
 "I should be sorry if an}^ thought I have bestowed 
 
 120
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 on your younp mistress—" he be.^^an, coldly ; then sud- 
 denly the intense need of help and sympathetic coun- 
 sel overbalanced dignity. " Hannah," he said, abrupt- 
 ly, "I'm in a terribly awkward position, and that is 
 the simple truth. My mind is quite at rest about 
 the younger girl. She is a child — and will ])e a child 
 for years. A good school is all she needs. But with 
 the other it's difTerent — with Clodagh it's different. 
 Clodagh is no longer a child." 
 
 Hannah remained discreetly silent. 
 
 "H I had a sister," he went on, "or any friend to 
 whom I could intrust her. But I have none." 
 
 Again Hannah shook her head. 
 
 " Why, thin, that's a pity," she murmured. " Sure, 
 'tis lonesome for a gintleman to be by himself." 
 
 " It is a pity — a great pity. You do not know how 
 it is weighing upon me. Of course, there is her aunt — " 
 
 Hannah made an exclamation of horror. 
 
 "Is it Mrs. Laurence?" she cried. "Is it tie her 
 to Mrs. Laurence you would ? Sure, you may as well 
 put her in the grave and be done wid it." 
 
 Milbanke's harassed face grew more perplexed. 
 
 "No," he said, hurriedly. " No; I understand that 
 that arrangement is impossible. I was merely won- 
 dering whether there is any other — any more distant 
 relative with whom she might be happy — " 
 
 He looked anxiously into her broad, shrewd face. 
 
 For a moment the small eyes met his seriously, 
 then involuntarily they twinkled. 
 
 "Faith, when I was a young woman, sir," she said, 
 slowly, "men wasn't so sat on findin' relations for a 
 girl like Miss Clodagh — unless maybe 'twas a relation 
 of their own makin'!" 
 
 Milbanke suddenly looked away. 
 
 " What — what do you mean ?" he asked, confusedly. 
 
 121
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Why, that 'tisn't aunts and cousins that a girl like 
 Miss Clodagh wants, but a good husband." 
 
 "A— a husband?" 
 
 "Why, thin, what else? Instid of throublin' your- 
 self and frettin' yourself till your heart is scalded out 
 of you, why don't you marry her? That's what Fve 
 been askin' meself ever since the poor masther died. 
 It's out now, if I'm to be killed for it!" 
 
 She eyed him quizzically and half defiantly. 
 
 But Milbanke stood stammering and confused, his 
 gaze fixed nervously on the ground, an unaccustomed 
 flush on his worn cheeks. 
 
 "But — but, Hannah, I — I am an old man!" 
 
 His tone was deprecating and meant to be ironic, 
 but unconsciously it had an undernote of question; 
 unconsciously, as he raised his eyes to his mentor's 
 face, he straightened the shoulders that age and 
 study had combined to bend. 
 
 "I am an old man!" he said again. "Why — why, 
 I am five years older than her father — " 
 
 Hannah continued to search his face. 
 
 " An' sure what harm is that ?" she said. " Wasn't 
 me own poor man as ould as me grandfather, an' 
 no woman ever buried a finer husband. God rest 
 him!" 
 
 Milbanke's lack of humorous imagination stood 
 him in good stead. 
 
 " But she's a child," he stammered. "A child—" 
 
 For answer Hannah leaned out of the window until 
 her face was close to his. 
 
 "Listen here to me," she said, softly. "Child or 
 no child, you thought about marry in' her before ever 
 I said it. But you'd never riz the courage to do it. 
 You're not like the Asshlins that would tear down 
 the walls of hell if they wanted to be gettin' at the 
 
 122
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 divil; you'd like somebody to take him be the hand 
 and draw him out nice and aisy for you — "There 
 she is up in that lonesome house, frettin' her heart 
 an' cryin' her eyes out. Why can't you go up an' 
 take her before somebody else does?" 
 
 As she came to the last words her rough voice 
 dropped. Her loyalty to her dead master, her 
 anxiety to see his child in a place of safety, poured 
 from her in crude eloquence. To her primitive mind 
 Milbanke appeared as the ideal husband — a man of 
 dependable years, of wealth, of good social position; 
 and all her affections, all her energies yearned to make 
 the marriage. She could not have framed the fear 
 that possessed her mind, but her instinct, her acute 
 native intuition warned her unanswerably that the 
 daughter of Denis Asshlin would need protection — 
 and would need it before long. With an impulsive 
 gesture she stretched out her hand, and, touching 
 Milbanke's shoulder, pushed him gently forward into 
 the yard. 
 
 "Go on, sir," she urged, sottly. "Go on up an' 
 take her before somebody else does!"
 
 XIV 
 
 IT may be surmised without fear of misconception 
 that never during the smooth course of his un- 
 eventful existence had Milbanke been so rudely 
 shaken into self-comprehension as by Hannah's un- 
 looked-for onslaught. Left to the placid guidance of 
 unaided instinct, it is almost certain that he would 
 have left Orristown whenever the hour of departure 
 arrived, innocently unconscious that any parting 
 pangs could be attributed to a personal cause. It is 
 possible that with the passage of time he might have 
 acknowledged that somewhere in the inner recesses 
 of his mind there was a shrine where one face, more 
 changeful and alluring than any other he had known, 
 reigned in solitary state; but beyond that tardy 
 acknowledgment he would not have dared to venture. 
 Later still, perhaps, if circumstances had compelled 
 him to resign his guardianship over Clodagh in favor 
 of some possible husband, it is within the bounds of 
 reason to conjecture that understanding of his feelings 
 might have come to him when, having said good-bye 
 to the young girl just crossing the threshold of life, he 
 returned to his home, newly and bitterly alive to his 
 age and loneliness. But now, in the light of present 
 events, all such suppositions had become valueless. 
 As if by some powerful outside pressure, his eyes had 
 been opened, and he stood dazed and elated before 
 the new road that opened upon his vision. 
 
 124
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 His brain felt light and unsteady, his limbs were 
 imbued with a sensation of unaccustomed buoyancy 
 as he turned, impelled by Hannah's words, and 
 moved across the yard towards the arched gateway. 
 A half - admitted, intoxicating sense of imminent 
 action possessed him; and as he walked forward it 
 seemed thkt he scarcely felt the ground beneath his 
 feet. 
 
 Almost without volition he passed from the stone- 
 paved court-yard into the sweep of gravelled pathway 
 that fronted the house. For the first time in his 
 existence he was conscious of being borne forward on 
 the tide of his emotions, and the knowledge had an 
 exhilarating, unbalanced daring that suggested youth. 
 
 As though he feared the evaporation of his mood, 
 he made no pause on gaining the pathway, but went 
 straight forward towards the house with a haste and 
 impetuosity very foreign to his formal nature. On 
 his second entry into the hall he paid no heed to the 
 chill desolation of the place, but, crossing the inter- 
 vening space, began immediately to mount the stairs. 
 
 Scarcely had he reached the highest step, however, 
 than he halted incontinently. For, as though in 
 direct response to the thoughts that were filling his 
 mind, a door on the corridor opened and Clodagh ap- 
 peared upon the scene. 
 
 Seeing him, she too paused, and in the moment of 
 mutual hesitation he had opportunitv to studv her. 
 
 In her new black dress, she looked sHghter and 
 more immature than he had expected; and the pa- 
 thetic effect of her appearance was enhanced by the 
 paleness of her face and the heavy purpV shadows 
 that sleeplessness and tears had traced below her eyes. 
 As the impression obtruded itself upon him, his own 
 nervous excitement dro])ped from him suddenly. 
 
 125
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "My poor child!" he said, involuntarily. 
 
 At the words and the tone she turned to him im- 
 pulsively. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Milbanke — " she began. 
 
 Then her loneliness, her sense of bereavement and 
 desolation inundated her mind. With a short sob 
 she moved abruptly away, and, turning lier face to 
 the wall, broke into a passion of tears. 
 
 The action was the action of a child, and without 
 hesitation Milbanke responded to it. Stepping across 
 the corridor he put his arm about her shoulder and 
 drew her gently towards the stairs. 
 
 "Come!" he said, soothingly. "Come! The house 
 is quite quiet, and you are badly in want of a little 
 daylight and fresh air. Come! Let me take you 
 out." 
 
 Clodagh sobbed on; but she suffered herself to be 
 led down the stairs and across the hall towards the 
 open door. There, however, she paused, newly ar- 
 rested by her grief. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Milbanke," she cried, "I can't believe it! 
 I can't believe that we'll never see him again. Poor 
 father! Oh, poor father!" 
 
 But Milbanke was equal to the situation. 
 
 " You must be brave," he said, kindly. "You must 
 remember that he would like you to be brave." 
 
 The words were an inspiration; with marvellous 
 efficacy they checked the torrent of Clodagh 's tears. 
 For a moment she stood looking at him in a dazed, 
 uncertain way ; then she lifted her head in a pathetic 
 attempt at decisive action. 
 
 "You are right," she said, unevenly. "He would 
 like to know that I was brave." 
 
 The declaration seemed to cost her an immense 
 effort, for instantly it was made she turned away 
 
 126
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 from Milbanke, freeing herself from his detaining 
 arm. And as though fearing to trust herself to any 
 further onrush of emotion, she stepped through the 
 open door and walked quickly forward to where the 
 gravelled drive merged into the long and narrow 
 glen in which the Orristown woods met the sea. 
 
 Down the wide track leading to this glen she walk- 
 ed, with head rigidly erect and with resolutely set lips, 
 while Milbanke followed in the rear. Now that the 
 immediate need for his protection had been removed, 
 his mind involuntarily reverted to his earlier and 
 more tumultuous thoughts. With a strange, half- 
 timid excitement, he acknowledged the personal 
 element in his surroundings, and exulted with a 
 certain tremulous joy in the keen air that blew inland 
 from the sea — in the pleasant earthy smell of the 
 moss that clothed the rough stones of the boundary 
 wall skirting the path — in the promise of spring, 
 suggested by the hardy green of the wild violet plants 
 clustering at the roots of the beech-trees. And with 
 his eyes fixed upon Clodagh's sHm, black figure, he 
 walked forward in a vaguely intoxicating dream. 
 
 For the full course of the path she went on steadily ; 
 but reaching the glen she paused; and there, as if by 
 a prearrangement of destiny, Milbanke overtook her. 
 
 With a quiet, unostentatious movement he stepped 
 to her side, and stood looking upon the scene that 
 spread before them. 
 
 The scene was not imposing, but it was beautiful 
 with the brooding, solemn beauty that emanates 
 from Ireland. Upon one hand, the sea stretched 
 away green, invincible, and cold, as it so often looks in 
 early spring; upon the other, the woods lay a mass 
 of leafless, interlacing boughs that formed a clean, 
 brown silhouette against the gray sky; while directly 
 
 127
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 in front, the first undulation of the rugged Orristown 
 cHffs stood up an impregnable rampart against the 
 outer world. 
 
 For a long, silent moment Clodagh surveyed the 
 scene; then, with one of the impulsive, unstudied 
 gestures that were so characteristic of her, she looked 
 round; and for the first time since they had left the 
 house her eyes rested on Milbanke's face. 
 
 "You are very kind to me," she said, suddenly. 
 "Why are you so kind?" 
 
 The words, spoken with complete ingenuousness, 
 came at a singularly appropriate moment. To Mil- 
 banke, nervously conscious of his own emotions, they 
 seemed inspired. With a quick, unsteady gesture, 
 he wheeled round, and putting out his hand, caught 
 hers. 
 
 " It— it is easy to be kind to some people," he said, 
 almost inarticulately. 
 
 Clodagh looked at him in some surprise ; but it did 
 not occur to her to withdraw her hand. She stood 
 perfectly calm and unembarrassed; and presently, 
 as he made no attempt at further speech, her glance 
 wandered back to the cool stretch of green water. 
 
 " Yes," she said, slowly. " I suppose it is easy to be 
 nice to some people, but not to selfish people like 
 me." 
 
 At her words Milbanke's hand tightened abruptly. 
 
 "You must not say that," lie murmured. " I have 
 never seen any faults in your character. And even- 
 even if I had — " His voice quickened, confusedly. 
 "Even if I had seen them, you would still be the — 
 the child of my oldest friend." 
 
 He spoke disjointedh' and agitatedly; but at his 
 words Clodagh turnefl to him afresh with a grateful, 
 impulsive movement. 
 
 128
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Ah, then I understand!" she said, warmly. "You 
 are very kind — you are very good — -" 
 
 At her movement and her tone a mental giddiness 
 seized upon Milbanke. A flush rose to his temples, 
 and his fingers twitched. 
 
 "Clodagh," he said, suddenly, "let me be kind to 
 you always ? Let — let me marry you — and be kind 
 to you always?" 
 
 The a])peal came forth with volcanic suddenness. 
 He had not meant to be precipitate; it was entirely 
 alien to his slow, methodical nature to plunge head- 
 long into any situation. But the occasion was un- 
 precedented; circumstances overwhelmed him. For 
 a long space after he had spoken he stood as if 
 transfixed, his eyes straining to catch the expression 
 on Clodagh's face, his pale, ascetic features puckered 
 with anxiety. 
 
 The pause was long — preternaturally long. Clodagh 
 stood as motionless as he, her hand still resting passive 
 in his clasp, her clear eyes staring into his in stupefied 
 amazement. It was plainly evident that no realiza- 
 tion of the declaration just made had penetrated her 
 understanding. To her mind — unattuned, even vague- 
 Iv, to the idea of love, and temporarily numbed 
 by her grief — the thought that her father's friend 
 could consider her in any Hght but that of a child was 
 too preposterous, too unreal to come spontaneously. 
 The belief that Milbankc's extraordinary words but 
 needed some explanatory addition held her attentive 
 and expectant. And under this conviction she stood 
 unconscious of his close regard and unembarrassed by 
 the pressure of his hand. 
 
 At last, as some shadowy perception of her thoughts 
 obtruded itself upon him, he stirred nervously, and 
 the flush upon his face deepened. 
 
 9 129
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Clodagh," he said, "have I made myself plain? 
 Do you understand that I— that I wish to marry 
 you? That I want you for my — my wife?" 
 
 The final word with its intense incongruity cut 
 suddenly through the mist of her bewilderment. In 
 a flash of comprehension the meaning of his declara- 
 tion sprang to her mind. Her face turned red, then 
 pale; with a sharp movement she drew away her 
 hand. 
 
 "You want to marry me?" she said, in a slow, 
 amazed voice. 
 
 Before the note of blank, undisguised incredulity, 
 Milbanke shrank back into himself. 
 
 "Yes," he said, hurriedly. "Yes; that is my 
 desire. I know that perhaps it may — may seem 
 incongruous. You are very young; and I — " 
 
 He hesitated with a painful touch of embarrass- 
 ment. At the hesitation Clodagh's voice broke forth. 
 
 "But I don't want to marry," she cried. "I don't 
 want to marry— any one." 
 
 There was a sharp, half -frightened note audible in 
 her voice. For the moment her whole attitude was 
 that of the inexperienced being who clings instinctive- 
 ly to the rock of present things, and obstinately re- 
 fuses to be cast into the sea of future possibilities. 
 For the moment she was blind to the instrument that 
 was forcing her towards those possibilities. To her 
 immature mind, it was the choice between the known 
 and the unknown. Then suddenly and accidentally 
 her eyes came back to Milbanke's face; and the 
 personal element in the choice assailed her abruptly. 
 
 "Oh, I couldn't!" she cried, involuntarily. "I 
 couldn't— I couldn't!" 
 
 She did not intend to hurt him; but cruelty is 
 the prerogative of the young, and she failed to see 
 
 130
 
 YOU W.Wr H) MAKKV Ml;'' sill- SAII)'
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 that he winced before the decisive honesty of her 
 words. 
 
 "Am I so — so very distasteful?" he asked, in a low, 
 unsteady voice. 
 
 She looked at him in silence. It was the inevitable 
 clash of youth and age. She was warm-hearted, she 
 was capable of generous action; but before all else, 
 she was young — the triumphant inheritor of the ages. 
 Life stretched before her, while it lay Ijehind him. 
 She looked at him; and as she looked a wave of 
 revolt — a strong, sudden sense of her individual 
 right to happiness — surged through her. 
 
 "Oh, I couldn't!" she cried again. "I couldn't!" 
 
 And before Milbanke could reply — before he had 
 time to comprehend the purport of her words — she 
 had turned and tied in the direction of the house, 
 leaving him standing as he was, dazed and petrified. 
 
 Upward along the path Clodagh ran. Her impulse 
 towards flight had been childish, and her thoughts 
 as she sped forward were as unreasonable and con- 
 fused as a child's. She was vaguely, blindly filled 
 with a desire to escape — from what she knew not ; to 
 evade — what she knew not Her one consecutive 
 thought was the knowledge that the prop upon 
 which she had leaned in these days of sorrow and 
 despair had unaccountably and suddenly been with- 
 drawn, and that she stood wofull.y alone and un- 
 protected. 
 
 On she ran, until the archway of the court-yard 
 broke into view; then without a moment's hesitation 
 she swerved to the left, sped across the yard, and 
 burst unceremoniously into the kitchen. 
 
 In the kitchen Hannah was busving herself over 
 the fire that, in the confusion of tlie morning's event, 
 
 131
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 had been suffered to die down. At the tempestuous 
 opening of the door she turned sharply round, and for 
 a second stood staring at the disturbed face of her 
 young mistress; then, with the intuitive tact of her 
 race, she suddenly opened her ample arms, and with 
 a sob Clodagh rushed towards her. 
 
 For a long moment Hannah held her as if she had 
 been a baby, patting her shoulder and smoothing 
 her ruffled hair, while she cried out her grief and 
 bewilderment. At last, with a slow, sobbing breath, 
 she raised her head. 
 
 "Oh, Hannah, I want father!" she said. "I want 
 father!" 
 
 Hannah drew her closer to her broad shoulder. 
 
 "Whisht, now!" she murmured, tenderly. " Whisht, 
 now! Sure he's betther off. Sure he's betther off." 
 
 But Clodagh's mind was too agitated to take 
 comfort. With a change of mental attitude, she 
 altered her physical position — freeing herself abruptly 
 from Hannah's embrace. 
 
 "Hannah," she cried, suddenly, "Mr. Milbanke 
 wants me to marry him. And I won't! I can't! I 
 won't!' 
 
 Hannah's eyes narrowed sharply. But whatever 
 her emotion she checked it, and bent over her charge 
 with another caress. 
 
 "Sure you won't, of course, my lamb. Who'd 
 be askin' you?" 
 
 "No one." 
 
 "Thin why would you be frettin' yourself?" 
 
 "I'm not fretting myself. Only — " 
 
 "Only what?" 
 
 "Only — Oh, nothing, notliing — " With a dis- 
 tressed movement Clodagh pushed back her hair 
 from her forehead. Then she turned to the old 
 
 132
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 servant afresh. "Hannah," she demanded, "wliy 
 does he want to marry me? Why does he want to?" 
 
 Hannah was silent for a space; then her shrewd, 
 ugly face puckered into an expression of profound 
 wisdom. 
 
 "Men are quare," she said, oracularly. "The 
 oulder, the quarcr. Maybe he's thinkin' of himself 
 in the matther; but maybe" — her voice dropped im- 
 pressively — "maybe, Miss Clodagh, 'tis the way he's 
 thinkin' of you — " 
 
 She paused with deep significance. 
 
 The eiTort after effect was not wasted. Clodagh 
 looked up sharply. 
 
 "What do you mean?" she asked. 
 
 "Mane?" Hannah turned away, and, picking up a 
 poker, began softly to rake the ashes from the fire. 
 "Sure what would I be manin?" 
 
 "But you do mean something. What is it?" 
 
 Hannah went on with her task. 
 
 Clodagh stamped her foot. 
 
 "Hannah, what is it?" 
 
 "Nothin'. Sure, nothin' at all. I'm only sayin* 
 what quare notions men takes." 
 
 "But you mean something else. What is it?" 
 
 Hannah stolidly continued to rake out the remnants 
 of the fire. 
 
 "I know nothin'," she said, obstinately. "Ask 
 Mrs. Laurence." 
 
 " But you do. I know by your voice. What is it ?" 
 
 An alert, unconscious note of apprehension had 
 crept into Clodagh's tone. Her li]is suddenly tight- 
 ened, her eyes became wide. 
 
 "What is it, Hannah?" she exclaimed. "What's 
 the reason he wants to marry me ?" 
 
 "Sure no r'ason at all." 
 
 ^33
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 Clodagh made a gesture of anger and disgust. 
 Then she made a fresh appeal. 
 
 "Hannah, please — " 
 
 But Hannah went on with her work. Years of 
 shrewd observation had taught her the power of 
 silence. 
 
 "Then you won't tell me?" 
 
 There was no response. 
 
 "Hannah!" 
 
 At last the old servant turned, as though pressed 
 beyond endurance. 
 
 "Well," she said, with seeming reluctance, "may- 
 be he'd be thinkin' 'twould be aisier for wan of the 
 Asshlins to be drawin' out of her husband's pocket 
 than to be — " 
 
 But Clodagh interrupted. She turned suddenly, 
 her cheeks burning, her eyes ablaze. 
 
 "Hannah!" she cried, in sharp, pained alarm. 
 
 But Hannah had said her say. With her old, im- 
 perturbable gesture she turned once more to her 
 task. 
 
 "I know nothin'," she murmured, obstinately. "If 
 you're wantin' more, ask Mrs. Laurence." 
 
 For a while Clodagh stood, transfixed by the idea 
 presented to her mind. Then, action and certainty 
 becoming suddenly indispensable, she turned on her 
 heel. 
 
 "Very well!" she said, tersely. "Very well! I will 
 ask Aunt Fan." 
 
 And with as scant ceremony as she had entered it, 
 she swept out of the kitchen. 
 
 As the door banged, Hannah glanced over her 
 shoulder, her red face brimming with tenderness. 
 
 " Wisha, 'tis all for the best," she murmured, aloud. 
 
 134
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 " 'Tis all for the best. But (iod forgive me for 
 hurtin' a hair of her head!" 
 
 With feet that scarcely felt tiie ground beneath 
 them, Clodagh sped along the stone passages that 
 led to the hall, and from thence ascended to the 
 bedrooms. Her senses were acutely alive, her mind 
 alert with an unbearable apprehension. A new dread 
 that, by the power of intuition, had almost become 
 a certainty, impelled her forward without the con- 
 scious action of her will. Without any hesitancy or 
 indecision, she traversed the long corridor, and, paus- 
 ing before the room occupied by her aunt, knocked 
 peremptorily upon the door. 
 
 After a moment's wait Mrs. Asshlin's querulous 
 voice was raised in response. 
 
 " Well ?" she asked. " What is it ? Who's there ?" 
 
 "Clodagh." 
 
 There was an audible sigh. And the usual "Come 
 in!" followed somewhat tardily. 
 
 Clodagh instantly turned the handle and opened 
 the door. 
 
 In this room the blinds had not yet been drawn 
 up, and only a yellowish light filtered in from outside ; 
 in the grate a fire burned unevenly; and close beside 
 it sat Mrs. Asshlin, a cup of tea in her hand, a black 
 woollen shawl wrapped about her shoulders. As her 
 niece entered, she glanced round irritably, drawing 
 the wrap more closely round her. 
 
 "Shut the door, Clodagh" she said. "I hate these 
 big, draughty houses." 
 
 Clodagh obeyed in silence, then, walking deliberate- 
 ly across the room, paused by her aunt's chair. Her 
 face was still burning and her heart beat unpleasantly 
 fast. 
 
 "Aunt Fan," she said. "1 want to ask you some- 
 
 135
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 thing. Why should Mr. Milbanke bother about me 
 — about us ?" 
 
 Mrs. Asshhn, startled by the suddenness of the 
 unlooked-for attack, turned in her seat and peered 
 through the yellow twilight into her niece's excited 
 face. 
 
 "What on earth is the matter with you, child?" 
 she demanded. 
 
 "Nothing. But I want to know." 
 
 Mrs. Asshlin made a gesture tantamount to 
 shrugging her shoulders. 
 
 "It is quite natural that Mr. Milbanke should be 
 interested in you. He was your father's oldest 
 friend." 
 
 "Yes, yes." Clodagh bent forward uncontrollably. 
 "And, Aunt Fan, has father died poor? Has — has 
 he left debts? That's what I want to know." 
 
 Mrs. Asshlin moved nervously in her chair. 
 
 "My dear child — " she began, weakly. 
 
 "Has he? Oh, Aunt Fan, has he left debts?" 
 
 She clasped her hands involuntarily. 
 
 Mrs. Asshlin was taken at a disadvantage. 
 
 "Well—" she stammered. "Well—" 
 
 "He has left debts?" 
 
 "Well, yes. If you must know — he has." 
 
 Clodagh caught her breath. 
 
 " Of course, as I often said," Mrs. Asshlin continued, 
 "poor Denis was a terribly improvident man — " 
 
 But Clodagh checked her. 
 
 "Don't!" she said, faintly. "I couldn't bear it — 
 just to-day. Are the debts big?" 
 
 " Immense." 
 
 Mrs. Asshlin made the reply sharply. She was not 
 an ill-natured woman, but her sense of dignity had 
 been hurt. 
 
 136
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 As the word was spoken, Clodagh swayed a little. 
 The black cloud of vague liabilities that hangs over so 
 many Irish houses had suddenly descended upon her. 
 And in the consequent shock it seemed that the 
 ground literally rocked under her feet. After a 
 moment she steadied herself. 
 
 "Must the place go?" she asked, in an intensely 
 quiet voice. 
 
 "Yes. At least—" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "It would have had to go, only — " 
 
 "Only for what?" In her keen anxiety, Clodagh 
 stooped forward and laid her hand on her aunt's 
 shoulder. "Only for what. Aunt Fan?" 
 
 Shaken and unnerved at the interrogation, Mrs. 
 Asshlin sat up with a start. 
 
 " Why do you do that, Clodagh ?" she cried. " Why 
 do you do that ? You gave me a palpitation of the 
 heart." 
 
 But Clodagh's eyes still burned with inquiry. 
 
 " Why won't the place have to go?" she demanded. 
 " How will the debts be paid ?" 
 
 Mrs. Asshlin freed herself nervously from her 
 niece's hand. 
 
 "Mr. Milbanke will pay them," she said, impulsive- 
 ly; then instantly she checked herself. "Oh, what 
 have I said!" she exclaimed. "Don't pretend that 
 I told you, Clodagh. He is so particular that you 
 shouldn't know." 
 
 But Clodagh scarcely heard. Her hand had 
 dropped to her side, and she stood staring blankly at 
 her aunt. 
 
 "You mean to say that he's going to pay father's 
 debts — our debts?" 
 
 "Yes. He even wants to put the place into good 
 
 137
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 repair. Poor Denis seems to have cast a perfect spell 
 over him." 
 
 "Then we'll owe him something we can never 
 
 possibly repay!" 
 
 Mrs. Asshlin drew herself up. 
 
 "Not exactly owe," she corrected. "It is an— an 
 act of friendship. The Asshlins have never been 
 indebted to any one for a favor. Of course, Mr. 
 Milbanke is a wealthy man; and it's easy to be 
 generous when you have money — " 
 
 She heaved a sigh. 
 
 But Clodagh stood staring vacantly at the opposite 
 
 wall. 
 
 "It's a debt all the same," she said, after a long 
 pause. "I suppose it is what father used to call a 
 debt of honor." 
 
 She spoke in a slow, mechanical voice; then, as if 
 moved to action by her train of thought, she turned 
 without waiting for her aunt's comment and walked 
 out of the room. 
 
 Traversing the corridor, she descended the stairs 
 and passed straight to the hall-door. Once in the 
 open, she wheeled to the right with a steady, deliber- 
 ate movement, and began slowly to retrace the steps 
 she had taken nearly half an hour earlier. 
 
 Steadily and unemotionally she went forward, 
 skirting the court-yard, until, at the dip of the path, 
 the glen came into view, and with it Milbanke 's 
 precise, black figure, standing exactly as she had 
 seen it last. 
 
 The fact caused her no surprise. That he should 
 still be there seemed the natural — the anticipated 
 thing; and without any pause — any moment of 
 hesitation or delay — she moved directly towards him. 
 
 As she reached his side her cheeks were hot, her 
 
 138
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 heart was still beating unevenly ; and, absorbed by her 
 own emotion, she failed to see the dejected droop of 
 his shoulders — the slight, pathetic suggestion of age 
 in his bent back. 
 
 Her footsteps were scarcely audible on the damp 
 earth ; and she was close beside him before he became 
 conscious of her presence; as he did so, however, he 
 started violently, and the blood rushed incontinently 
 over his forehead and cheeks. 
 
 "Clodagh!" he stammered. 
 
 But Clodagh checked him, laying her hand quickly 
 on his arm. 
 
 "Mr. Milbanke," she said, hurriedly. "Will you 
 forgive me for what I said ? I want to take it back. 
 I want to say that, if you still like, I — I will marry 
 you."
 
 XV 
 
 AND thus it came about that Clodagh AsshHn 
 , entered upon a new phase of that precarious 
 condition that we call life. The impulse that had 
 induced her to accept Milbanke's proposal was in no 
 way complex. The knowledge had suddenly been 
 conveyed to her that, through no act of her own, she 
 had been placed under a deep obligation; and her 
 primary — her inherited — instinct had been to pay 
 her debt as speedily and as fully as lay within her 
 power, ignoring, in her lack of worldly wisdom, the 
 fact that such a bargain must of necessity possess 
 obligations other than personal, which would demand 
 subsequent settlement. 
 
 However unversed she may be in the world's ways, 
 it is scarcely to be supposed that any young girl, un- 
 der normal conditions, can look upon her own mar- 
 riage as an abstract thing. But the circumstances of 
 Clodagh's case were essentially abnormal. Milbanke's 
 proposal — and the facts that brought her to accept it 
 — came at a time when her mind and her emotions 
 were numbed by her first poignant encounter with 
 death and grief; and for the time being her outlook 
 upon existence was clouded. The present seemed 
 something sombre, desolate, and impalpable, while 
 the future was something absolutely void. 
 
 For two days after the scene in the glen, she and 
 Milbanke avoided all allusion to what had taken place 
 
 140
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 between them. He appeared possessed by an in- 
 surmountable nervous reticence, while she, immersed 
 in her trouble, seemed almost to have forgotten what 
 had occurred. 
 
 On the evening of the third day, however, the sub- 
 ject was again broached. 
 
 Milbanke was sitting by one of the long dining- 
 room windows, reading by the faint twilight that 
 filtered in from the fast-darkening sky. The light in 
 the room was fitful, for, though the table was already 
 laid for dinner, the candles had not yet been lighted. 
 
 With his book held close to his eyes, he had been 
 reading studiously for close upon an hour when the 
 quick opening of the door behind him caused him to 
 look round. As he did so, he closed his book some- 
 what hastily and rose with a shght gesture of em- 
 barrassment, for the disturber of his peace was 
 Clodagh. But it was not so much the fact of her entry 
 that had startled him, as the fact that, for the first 
 time since her father's death, she was arrayed in her 
 riding-habit. 
 
 Shaken out of his calm, he turned to her at once. 
 
 "Are you — are you going for a ride?" he asked, in 
 unconcealed surprise. 
 
 Clodagh nodded. She was drawing on her thick 
 chamois gloves, and her riding-crop was held under 
 her arm. Had the light in the room been stronger, 
 he would have seen that her lips were firmly set and 
 her eyes bright with resolution. But his mind was 
 absorbed by his surprise. 
 
 " But is it not rather — late ?" he hazarded, anxious- 
 ly, with a glance towards the window. 
 
 She looked up astonished. 
 
 "Late?" she repeated, incredulously. 
 
 Then the look of faintly contemptuous tolerance 
 
 141
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 that sometimes touched her with regard to him 
 passed over her face. 
 
 "Oh no; not at all!" she explained. "I'm used to 
 riding in the evening. You see, Polly must be 
 exercised; and I'd rather it was dark, the first time I 
 rode after — " 
 
 Her voice faltered. 
 
 Milbanke heard the tremor, and, as once before, his 
 sense of personal timidity fled before his spontaneous 
 pity. 
 
 "Clodagh," he said, suddenly, "allow me to ride 
 with you? I was a fairly good horseman in — in 
 my day." 
 
 There was pathos in the deprecating justification ; 
 but Clodagh's attention was caught by the words alone. 
 
 ' ' You ! ' ' she said , in blank amazement. 
 
 Then something in the crudeness of her tone struck 
 upon her, and she made haste to amend her excla- 
 mation. 
 
 "Of course it's very, very kind of you," she added, 
 awkwardly. 
 
 At her lowered tone, Milbanke colored, and took 
 a step forward. 
 
 "Clodagh," he began, with a flash of courage, "I 
 think you might allow me to be more kind to you 
 than you do. I think I might give you more pro- 
 tection. And it has occurred to me that perhaps we 
 ought to announce our — our engagement — " 
 
 He halted nervously. 
 
 As soon as he had begun to speak, Clodagh had 
 walked away from him acrOvSS the room; and now she 
 stood by the mantel-piece looking down steadily into 
 the fire. 
 
 "Do you agree with me?" he asked, moving ner- 
 vously towards her. 
 
 142
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 There was an embarrassed silence. And in his 
 perturbation he glanced from her bent head to the 
 picture above the chimney-piece from which An- 
 thony Asshlin's ardent face showed out a vague patch 
 of color against its black background. 
 
 "Clodagh," he said, suddenly. "Allow me to tell 
 Mrs. Asshlin that you have promised to marry me." 
 
 But still Clodagh did not answer; still she stood 
 gazing enigmatically into the burning logs, her slight 
 figure and warm, youthful face fitfully lighted by the 
 capr cious, spurting flames. 
 
 "Clodagh!" he excla med. And there was a note 
 of uneasiness in his low, deprecating voice. 
 
 Then at last she turned, and their eyes met. 
 
 "Very well," she said, quietly. "You may tell 
 Aunt Fan. But, if you don't mind, I'll ride by 
 myself " 
 
 That night, at the conclusion of dinner, the en- 
 gagement was announced. All the members of the 
 Asshlin fam ly were seated about the table when 
 Milbanke, who had practically eaten nothing during 
 the meal, summoned his wavering courage and leaned 
 across the table towards Mrs. Asshlin who was sitting 
 upon his right hand. 
 
 " Mrs. Asshlin," he began, almost inaudibly. "I — 
 that is, Clodagh and I — " He glanced timidly to 
 where Clodagh sat, erect and immovable, at the head 
 of the table. "Clodagh and I have — have an an- 
 nouncement to make. We — that is, I — " He stam- 
 mered hopelessly. "Mrs. Asshlin, Clodagh has made 
 me very — very proud and very happy. She has con- 
 sented to — to be my wife." 
 
 He took a deep, agitated breath of wordless relief 
 that the confession was made. 
 
 143
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 There was a long pause. Then suddenly Mrs. 
 Asshlin extended both hands towards him in a 
 hysterical outburst of feeling. 
 
 "My dear— dear Mr. Milbanke," she said. "What 
 a shock! What a surprise, I should say! What 
 would my poor brother-in-law have thought! But 
 Providence ordains everything. I'm sure I congratu- 
 late you — congratulate you both — " She turned 
 to Clodagh. "Though of course it is not the time 
 for congratulations—" She hastily drew out her 
 handkerchief. 
 
 As she did so, little Nance rose softly from the table 
 and slipped unobserved from the room. At Mil- 
 banke's words, the child's face had turned terribly 
 white, and she had cast an appealing, incredulous 
 look at Clodagh. But Clodagh, in her self-imposed 
 stoHdity, had seen nothing of the expressions round 
 her; and now, as her sister left her place and crossed 
 the room the significance of the action went unno- 
 ticed. 
 
 For a moment the only sound audible in the room 
 was the cracking of the fire and Mrs. Asshlin's 
 muffled weeping; but at last Milbanke, agonized into 
 action, put out his hand and touched her arm. 
 
 "Please do not give way to your feelings, Mrs. 
 Asshlin!" he urged. "Think— think of Clodagh!" 
 
 Thus appealed to, Mrs. AsshHn wiped away the 
 half-dozen tears that had trickled down her cheek. 
 
 "You must forgive me," she murmured. "We 
 Irish take things too much to heart. It — it brought 
 my own engagement back to me — and, of course, my 
 poor Laurence's death. I hope, indeed, that it v/ill 
 be a very long time before Clodagh — " 
 
 But the words were broken by a clatter from the 
 other side of the table, as young Laurence Asshlin 
 
 144
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 opportunely knocked one wineglass against another. 
 And in the moment of interruption Clodagh pushed 
 back her chair and stood up. 
 
 "If you don't mind, Aunt Fan," she said, "I 
 think I'll go to bed. The — the ride has tired me. 
 Good-night." And without a glance at any one, she 
 walked out of the room. 
 
 But she had scarcely crossed the hall before a step 
 behind her caused her to pause, and, looking back, 
 she saw the figure of her cousin a pace or two in the 
 rear. 
 
 In the half-Hght of the place, the two confronted 
 each other, and Clodagh lifted her head in a move- 
 ment that was common to them both. 
 
 "What do you want?" she asked. 
 
 Asshlin stepped forward. 
 
 "'Tisn't true, Clo?" he asked, breathlessly. 
 
 Clodagh looked at him defiantly and nodded. 
 
 "Yes," she said. "'Tistrue." 
 
 For a moment he stared at her incredulously, then 
 his incredulity drove him to speech. 
 
 "But, Clo," he cried, "he's sixty, if he's a day! 
 And you — " 
 
 Clodagh flushed. 
 
 "Stop, Larry!" she said, unevenly. "Father was 
 nearly sixty." 
 
 But Asshlin's sense of the fitness of things had been 
 aroused 
 
 "That's all very well!" he cried, scornfully. " Uncle 
 Denis was all right for a father or an uncle. But to 
 marry! Clo, you're mad!" 
 
 Clodagh turned upon him. 
 
 "How dare you, Larry?" she cried. "You are 
 horrible! I hate you!" 
 
 Her voice caught; and with a sudden passionate 
 lo 145
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 gesture she wheeled away from him and began to 
 mount the stairs. 
 
 The action sobered him. With impetuous re- 
 morse he thrust out his hand to detain her. 
 
 "Clo!" he said. " I say, Clo!" 
 
 But she swept his hand aside. 
 
 "No! No!" she exclaimed. "I don't want you! 
 I don't want you! I never want to speak to you 
 again. You are hateful — detestable — " 
 
 With a fierce movement she pushed past his out- 
 stretched arm and flew up the stairs. 
 
 In her bedroom Hannah was hovering about be- 
 tween the wash-stand and dressing-table, a lighted 
 candle in one hand, a carafe of water in the other. 
 At the sight of her mistress she laid both her burdens 
 down with a cry of delight. 
 
 "My darHn'!" she exclaimed. "An' it is thrue? 
 Tim heard the word of it an' he carry in' the cheese out 
 of the dinin'-room; but sure I wouldn't belave him — " 
 
 But Clodagh checked her. 
 
 "Don't be a fool, Hannah!" she cried, almost 
 fiercely; and, turning her face from the old servant's 
 scrutinizing eyes, she walked across the room towards 
 the bed. 
 
 For a moment Hannah stood like an ungainly 
 statue in the middle of the room; then she nodded to 
 herself — a nod of profound and silent wisdom — and 
 tiptoeing out of the room, closed the door behind 
 her. 
 
 Instantly she was alone, Clodagh began to undress. 
 With hysterical impetuosity she tore off each gar- 
 ment and threw it untidily upon the floor; then 
 slipping into bed, she buried her hot face in the 
 pillows and burst into a violent, unreasoning torrent 
 of tears. 
 
 146
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 For ten minutes she cried unceasingly; then the 
 storm of her misery was checked. The door-handle 
 was very softly turned, and little Nance stole into 
 the room. 
 
 She entered eagerly, then paused, frightened by the 
 scene before her; but her hesitation was very brief. 
 With a sudden movement of resolution she sped 
 across the space that divided her from the bed, and 
 laid a cold, tremulous hand on Clodagli's shoulder. 
 
 "Clo," she said, "is it true? Are you going to 
 marry him? Are you going away from here?" 
 Her voice sounded thin and far away. 
 
 Clodagh raised herself on one elbow and looked 
 at her sister Her face was flushed, her eyes were 
 preternaturally bright. 
 
 "Why do you want to know?" she demanded, 
 angrily. "Why is everybody bothering me like 
 this ? Can't I do what I like ? Can't I marry if I 
 like?" 
 
 Her voice rose excitedly. Then suddenly she 
 caught sight of Nance's quivering, wistful little face, 
 and her anger melted. With a warm, quick move- 
 ment, she held out her arms. 
 
 "Nance!" she cried, wildly. "Little Nance! The 
 only person in the world that I really love!"
 
 XVI 
 
 THAT night Clodagh fell asleep with her wet cheek 
 pressed against her sister's and her arms clasped 
 closely round her. 
 
 Next morning she woke calmed and soothed by 
 her outburst of the night before, and after breakfast 
 was able to enter into the primary discussion con- 
 cerning her marriage without any show of emotion. 
 The conclave, at which she, her aunt, and Milbanke 
 alone were present, took place in the drawing-room 
 and was of a weighty and solemn character. The 
 first suggestion was put forward by Mrs. Asshlin, 
 who, with the native distaste for all hurried and 
 definite action, pleaded that an engagement of six 
 months at least would be demanded by the con- 
 ventionalities before a marriage could take place; 
 but here, to the surprise of his listeners, Milbanke 
 displayed a fresh gleam of the determination and 
 firmness that had inspired him during the days of 
 sickness and death. With a reasonableness that 
 could not be gainsaid, he refuted and disposed of Mrs. 
 Asshlin's arguments, and with a daring born of his 
 new position, made the startling proposal that the 
 wedding ceremony should be performed within the 
 shortest possible time, and that, to obviate all dif- 
 ficulties, Clodagh and he should leave Ireland im- 
 mediately, journeying to Italy to take up tlieir 
 residence in the villa that he had already rented at 
 Florence for his own use. 
 
 148
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Immediately the suggestion was made, Mrs. Asshlin 
 broke forth in irresistible objection. 
 
 "Oh, but what would people say?" she cried. 
 "Think of what people would say! With the funeral 
 scarcely over!" 
 
 Milbanke looked at her gravely. His matter-of- 
 fact mind was as far as ever from comprehending the 
 ramifications of the Irish character. 
 
 "But, my dear Mrs. Asshlin," he urged, "do you 
 think we need really consider whether people talk or 
 not? Surely we who knew and loved poor Denis — " 
 
 "Oh, it isn't that. No one knows better than I do 
 what a friend you have been — " 
 
 Milbanke stirred uncomfortably. 
 
 " Please do not speak of it. I — I did no more than 
 any Christian would have done. What I mean to 
 suggest — " 
 
 But again she interrupted. 
 
 "Yes, yes; I know. But we must consider the 
 county. We must consider the county." 
 
 But here Clodagh, who was standing by the window, 
 turned swiftly round. 
 
 "Why must we?" she asked. "The county never 
 remembered father till he was dead. If I'm going to 
 be married, it's all the same to me whether it's in 
 three weeks or three months or three years." 
 
 Milbanke colored — not quite sure whether the dec- 
 laration was propitious or the reverse. 
 
 "Certainly! Certainly!" he broke in, nervously. 
 " I think your view is a — a very sensible one." 
 
 Mrs. Asshlin shook her head in speechless disap- 
 proval. 
 
 "And what is to become of Nance?" she asked, 
 after a moment's pause. 
 
 Again Milbanke glanced uncertainly at Clodagh. 
 
 149
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "My idea," he began, deprecatingly, "was to place 
 the child at a good English school. But for the first 
 year or two, I think that perhaps Clodagh might be 
 allowed to veto any arrangement I may make." 
 
 Clodagh stepped forward suddenly and impulsively. 
 
 " Do you mean that?" she asked. 
 
 He bent his head gravely. 
 
 "Then — then let us take her with us to Florence? 
 'Twould make me happier than anything under the 
 sun." 
 
 The words were followed by a slightly dismayed 
 pause. Although he strove bravely to conceal the 
 fact, Milbanke's face fell. And Mrs. Asshlin became 
 newly and markedly shocked. 
 
 "My dear Clodagh," she began, sternly. 
 
 But Milbanke put up his hand. 
 
 "Pray say nothing, Mrs. Asshlin," he broke in, 
 gently. "Clodagh's wishes are mine." 
 
 The blood surged into Clodagh's face in a wave of 
 spontaneous relief. 
 
 "You mean that?" she said again. 
 
 Once more he bent his head. 
 
 "Then I'll marry you any time you like," she said, 
 with a sudden, impulsive warmth. 
 
 And in due time the day of the marriage dawned. 
 After careful consideration, every detail had been 
 arranged and all difficulties smoothed away." The 
 ceremony was to take place in the small, unpreten- 
 tious Protestant church at Carrigmore, where, Sunday 
 after Sunday, since the days of her early childhood, 
 Clodagh had hstened to the Word of God, and had 
 sent up her own immature supplications to heaven. 
 The marriage — which of necessity was to be of the 
 most private nature — was fixed for the forenoon ; and 
 
 ISO
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 it had been arranged that immediately upon 4ts 
 conclusion Clodagh, Nance, and Milbanke should 
 repair to Mrs. Asshlin's cottage, from which — having 
 partaken of lunch — they were to start upon their 
 journey without returning to Orristown. 
 
 The wedding-morning broke gray and mild, presag- 
 ing a typical Irish day. After a night of broken and 
 restless sleep, Clodagh woke at six, and slipped out of 
 bed without disturbing Nance. 
 
 For the first moment or two she sat on the side of 
 her bed, her hands locked behind her head, her bare 
 feet resting upon the uncarpeted floor. Then sud- 
 denly the sight of the long card-board box that had 
 arrived from Dublin the day before, containing the 
 new gray dress in which she was to be married, 
 roused her to the significance of the hour. With a 
 swift movement she rose, and crossed the room to 
 the window. 
 
 The view across the bay was neutral and calm. 
 Over the sea to the east, a pale and silvery sun was 
 emerging from a film of mist, while on the water itself 
 a white, almost spiritual, radiance lay like a mystic 
 veil. Clodagh took one long, comprehensive glance 
 at the familiar scene; then, as if afraid to trust herself 
 too far, she turned away quickly and began to dress 
 with noiseless haste. 
 
 Twenty minutes later she crept down-stairs arrayed 
 in her old black riding-habit. 
 
 Where she rode on that morning of her marriage; 
 what strange and speculative thoughts burned in her 
 brain; and what secrets — regretful or anticipatory 
 — she whispered into Polly's sensitive ears, no one 
 ever knew! At half-past eight she rode into the 
 stable-yard, slipped from the saddle unaided, and 
 threw the mare's bridle to Burke. 
 
 151
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 For a full minute she stood with her gloved hand 
 upon the neck of the animal that had carried her so 
 often and so well; then, with a sudden, almost 
 furtive, movement, she bent forward and pressed her 
 face against the cropped mane. 
 
 "Take care of her, Tim," she said, unsteadily. 
 "Take care of her. I'll come back some day, you 
 know." 
 
 And without looking at the old man she turned and 
 walked out of the yard. 
 
 She met no one on her way to the house ; but as she 
 passed across the hall she was suddenly arrested by 
 the sight of Milbanke descending the stairs, already 
 arrayed in a conventional frock-coat. 
 
 Unconsciously she paused. From the first she had 
 vaguely understood that he would discard his usual 
 tweed suit on the day of the wedding ; but the actual 
 sight of these unfamiliar clothes came as a shock, 
 bringing home to her the imminence of the great 
 event as nothing else could possibly have done. He 
 looked unusually old, thin, and precise in the stiff, 
 well-cut garments, a circumstance that was unkindly 
 enhanced by the fact that he was palpably and un- 
 controllably nervous. 
 
 There was a moment of embarrassed silence. Then, 
 mastering her emotions, Clodagh advanced to the 
 foot of the stairs, holding out her hand. 
 
 He responded to the gesture with something like 
 gratitude. 
 
 "You have been out early," he said, hurriedly. 
 " Have you been taking a last look round ?" 
 
 Clodagh nodded and turned aside. The smart of 
 her recent farewell still burned in her eyes and throat. 
 
 He saw and interpreted the action. 
 
 " Don't take it to heart, my dear!" he said, quickly. 
 
 152
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "You shall return whenever you like And — and 
 it will be my proud privilet;e to know that you will 
 always find everything in readiness for you." 
 
 Clodagh's head drooped. 
 
 " You are very good," she said, in a low, mechanical 
 voice. 
 
 For a space Milbanke made no response; then sud- 
 denly his fingers tightened nervously over the hand 
 he was still holding. 
 
 "Clodagh," he said, anxiously. "You do not 
 regret anything ? You know it is not too late — even 
 now." 
 
 Clodagh glanced up, and for one instant a sudden 
 light leaped into her eyes; the next her lashes had 
 drooped again. 
 
 "No," she said. "I regret nothing." 
 
 Milbanke's fingers tightened spasmodically. 
 
 "God bless you!" he said, tremulously. And 
 leaning forward suddenly, he pressed his thin lips to 
 her forehead. 
 
 And so Clodagh's last boat was solemnly burned. 
 
 The hours that followed breakfast and saw the 
 departure from Orristown were too filled with haste 
 and confusion to make any deep impression upon her 
 mind. The last frenzied packing of things that had 
 been overlooked; the innumerable farewells, all more 
 or less harassing; the scramble to be dressed, and 
 the entering of the musty old barouche, that had done 
 duty upon great occasions in the Asshlin family for 
 close upon half a century, were all hopelessly — and 
 mercifully — confused. Even the drive to Carrigmore 
 with her aunt and sister filled her with a sense of 
 dazed unreality. She sat very straight and stiff in 
 the new gray dress, one hand clasped tenaciously 
 round Nance's warm fingers, the other holding the 
 
 153
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 cold and unfamiliar ivory prayer-book that had been 
 one of Milbanke's gifts. It was only when at last the 
 carriage drew up before the little church, and she 
 passed to the open gateway between two knots of 
 gaping and whispering villagers, that she realized with 
 any vividness the inevitable nature of the moment. 
 As she walked up the narrow path to the church 
 door, she turned suddenly to her little sister. 
 
 "Nance — " she said, breathlessly. 
 
 But the time for speech had passed. As Nance 
 raised a bright, excited face to hers, Mrs. Asshlin 
 hurried after them across the grass, and together 
 the three entered the church. A moment later 
 Clodagh saw with a faint sense of perturbation that 
 the building was not empty. In a shadowy corner 
 close to the altar rails Milbanke was talking in 
 nervous whispers to the rector who was to perform 
 the ceremony. 
 
 A few minutes later the little party was conducted 
 up the aisle with the usual murmur of voices and 
 rustle of garments, and in what seemed an in- 
 credibly — a preposterously — short space of time the 
 service had begun. 
 
 During the first portion of it, Clodagh's eyes never 
 left the brown, clean-shaven, benevolent face of the 
 rector. Try as she might, she could not realize that 
 the serious words, pouring forth in the voice that a 
 lifetime had rendered familiar, could be meant for 
 her who, until the day of her father's accident, had 
 never personally understood that life held any serious 
 responsibilities. It was only when the first solemn 
 question was put to her, and, startled out of her 
 dream, she responded almost inaudibly, that her 
 eyes turned upon Milbanke standing opposite to her 
 — earnest, agitated, precise. For one second a sense
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 of panic seized her; the next she had bUndly extended 
 her left hand in obedience to the rector's injunction, 
 and felt the chill of the new gold ring as it was slipped 
 over her third finger. 
 
 After that all-important incident, it seemed but a 
 moment before the ceremony was over, and the whole 
 party gathered together in the vestry. With a 
 steady hand she signed her name in the register; 
 then, instantly the act was accomplished, she turn- 
 ed instinctively towards the spot where Nance was 
 standing. 
 
 But before she could reach her sister's side she 
 was intercepted by Mrs. Asshlin, who stepped for- 
 ward, half-tearful, half-exultant, and embraced her 
 effusively. 
 
 "My dear child! — my dear, dear child!" she mur- 
 mured, disjointedly. "May your future be very 
 happy!" 
 
 Clodagh submitted silently to the embrace; then, 
 as her aunt reluctantly withdrew into the background, 
 she became conscious of the old rector's kindly 
 presence. Looking closely into her face, he took her 
 hand in both his own. 
 
 "God bless you, my child," he said, simply. "I 
 did not preach you a sermon just now, because I do 
 not think you will require it. You are a dutiful 
 child, and I believe that you have found a very 
 worthy husband." 
 
 At the word husband Clodagh looked up quickly; 
 then her eyes dropped to her wedding-ring. 
 
 "Thank you," she said, almost inaudibly. And an 
 instant later Milbanke stepped forward deferentially 
 and offered her his arm. 
 
 In silence they passed down the aisle of the church, 
 in the centre of which stood the old stone font at 
 
 155
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 which Clodagh had been christened, and on which she 
 had been wont to fix her eyes during the Sunday 
 service while the rector preached. All at once this 
 inanimate friendly object seemed to take a new 
 and unfamiliar air — seemed to whisper that Clodagh 
 Asshlin existed no more, and that the stranger who 
 filled her place was an alien. Her fingers tightened 
 nervously on her husband's arm and her steps in- 
 voluntarily quickened. 
 
 Outside, in the calm, gray, misty atmosphere, 
 they lingered for a moment by the church door, in 
 order to give Nance and Mrs. Asshlin the opportunity 
 of gaining the cottage before them; but both were 
 ill at ease, self-conscious, and acutely anxious to 
 curtail the enforced solitude. And it was with a 
 sigh of relief that Clodagh saw Milbanke draw out his 
 watch as an indication that they might start. 
 
 About the gate the little group of curious idlers 
 had been augmented. And as Clodagh stepped to 
 the carriage an irrepressible murmur of admiration 
 passed from lip to lip, succeeded by a cold and critical 
 silence as the bridegroom — well-bred, well-dressed, 
 but obviously and incongruously old — followed in 
 her wake. 
 
 Clodagh comprehended and construed this chilling 
 silence by the light of her own warm appreciation of 
 things young, strong, and beautiful. And as she 
 stepped hastily into the waiting carriage a flush of 
 something like shame rose hotly to her face. 
 
 Tlie drive to the cottage scarcely occupied five 
 minutes, and, even had they desired it, there was no 
 time for conversation. Milbanke sat upright and 
 embarrassed; Clodagh lay back in her corner of the 
 roomy barouche, her eyes fixed resolutely upon the 
 window, her fingers tightly clasping the ivory prayer-
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 book. One fact was occupying her mind with a sense 
 of anger and loneHness— the fact that her cousin 
 Larry had not been present in the church. Since the 
 night on which her engagement had been announced, 
 the feud between the cousins had continued. During 
 the weeks of preparation for the wedding, Larry had 
 avoided Orristown; but though no overtures had been 
 made, Clodagh had never doubted that he would be 
 present at the ceremony itself. And now that the 
 excitement was passed, she realized with a shock of 
 surprise that she had been openly and unmistakably 
 deserted. 
 
 The thought was uppermost in her mind as the 
 carriage stopped ; and when her aunt came forward to 
 greet them her first question concerned it. 
 
 " Where's Larry, Aunt Fan ?" she asked. 
 
 " My dear child, that's just what I have been asking 
 myself. But come in! Come into the house!" 
 
 Mrs. Asshlin was flustered by the responsibilities 
 of the moment. 
 
 " Why wasn't he in church ?" Clodagh asked as she 
 followed her into the long, narrow hall. 
 
 Mrs. Asshlin threw out her hands in a gesture of 
 perplexity. 
 
 "How can I tell?" she said. "Boys are incom- 
 prehensible things. I'm sure er— James is not old 
 enough to have forgotten that?" 
 
 She glanced archly over her shoulder. 
 
 Milbanke looked intensely embarrassed, and Clo- 
 dagh colored. 
 
 "Well, we'd better not wait for Larry," she inter- 
 posed, hastily. "You know what a time it takes to 
 get round to Cloghal with that big barouche." 
 
 Mrs. Asshlin became all assiduity. 
 
 "Certainly! Certainly, my dear child! Mr. Curry 
 
 157
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 and his brother are already waiting. Won't you 
 come in?" 
 
 With hospitable excitement she marshalled them 
 into the dining-room and seated them at a table 
 spread with good things. 
 
 The room into which they were ushered, though 
 small, was bright and cheerful, and, notwithstanding 
 the season, there were flowers upon the table and 
 mantel-piece. But even under these favorable con- 
 ditions the lunch was scarcely a success. Mrs. 
 Asshlin was genuine enough in her efforts at enter- 
 tainment; but the guests were not in a condition to 
 be entertained. Milbanke was intensely nervous; 
 Clodagh sat straight and rigid in her chair, uncom- 
 fortably conscious of insubordinate emotions that 
 crowded up at every added suggestion of departure. 
 Even the rector's brother — a bluff and hearty per- 
 sonage, who, out of old friendship for the Asshlin 
 family, had consented to act as best man at the 
 hurriedly arranged wedding — felt his spirits damped ; 
 while little Nance, who sat close to her sister, made no 
 pretence whatever at hiding the tears that kept 
 welling into her eyes. 
 
 It was with universal relief that at length they 
 rose from the table and filed out into the hall. 
 There, however, a new interruption awaited them. 
 In the shadow of a doorway they caught sight of 
 Hannah, arrayed in her Sunday bonnet and shawl, 
 and still breathless from the walk from Orris- 
 town. 
 
 At sight of the little party she came forward with a 
 certain ungainly shyness, but, catching a glimpse of 
 Clodagh, love conquered every lesser feeling. 
 
 "Let me have wan last look at her!" she exclaimed, 
 softly. "That's all I'm wantin'." 
 
 158
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 And as Cloda^h turned impulsively towards her, she 
 held out her arms. 
 
 "Sure I knew her before any wan of ye ever sat 
 eyes on her!" she explained, the tears running down 
 her cheeks. Go on now, miss — ma'am," she added, 
 brokenly, pushing Clodagh forward towards the door, 
 and turning to Milbanke with an out-stretched hand. 
 "Good-bye, sir! And God bless you!" Her soft, 
 singsong voice fell and her hard hand tightened over 
 his. "Take care of her," she added. "And don't 
 be forgettin' that she's nothin' but a child still, for 
 all her fine height and her good looks." 
 
 She spoke with crude, rough earnestness, but at the 
 last words her feelings overcame her. With another 
 spasmodic pressure, she released his fingers and, turn- 
 ing incontinently, disappeared into the back regions 
 of the cottage. 
 
 For a moment Milbanke remained where she had 
 left him, moved and yet perplexed by her hurried 
 words; then, suddenly remembering his duties, he 
 crossed the hall and punctiliously offered his arm to 
 Clodagh. 
 
 "The carriage is waiting," he said, gently. 
 
 But Clodagh shook her head. 
 
 "Please take Nance first," she murmured, in a low, 
 constrained voice. 
 
 He acquiesced silently, and as he moved away from 
 her she turned to Mrs. Asshlin. 
 
 "Good-bye, Aunt Fan!" she said. "And tell Larry 
 that I'm — that I'm sorry. He'll know what it means." 
 
 Her carefully controlled voice shook suddenly, as 
 pride struggled with affection and association. Sud- 
 denly putting her arms round Mrs. Asshlin's neck she 
 kissed her thin cheek, and, turning quickly, walked 
 forward to the waiting carriage. 
 
 159
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 There was a moment of excitement, a spasmodic 
 waving of handkerchiefs, the sound of a stifled sob and 
 the tardy throwing of a shpper; then, with a swish of 
 the long driving-whip, the horses bounded forward, 
 and the great, lumbering carriage swung down the 
 hill that led to the Cloghal road. 
 
 As they bowled through the village street, Clodagh 
 shrank back into her corner, refusing to look her last 
 on the scene that for nearly eighteen years had formed 
 a portion of her life's horizon. The instinctive 
 clinging to familiar things that forms so integral a 
 part of the Celtic nature, was swelling in her throat 
 and tightening about her heart. She resolutely re- 
 fused to be conquered by her emotion; but the 
 emotion — stronger for her obstinate suppression of it 
 — bade fair to dominate her. For the moment she 
 was unconscious of Milbanke, sitting opposite to her 
 anxious and deprecating, and she dared not permit 
 herself to press the small, warm fingers that Nance had 
 insinuated into her own. 
 
 With a lurch, the carriage swept round the curve 
 of the street and emerged upon the Cloghal road. 
 But scarcely had Burke gathered the reins securely 
 into his hands, scarcely had the horses settled into a 
 swinging trot, than the little party became suddenly 
 aware that a check had been placed upon their 
 progress. There was an exclamation from Burke, a 
 clatter of hoofs as the horses were hastily pulled up, 
 and the barouche came to a halt. 
 
 With a movement of surprise, Clodagh turned to 
 the open window. But on the instant there was a 
 scuffle of paws, the sharp), eager yap of a dog, and 
 something rough and warm thrust itself against her 
 face. 
 
 " Mick!" she cried, in breathless, incredulous rapture. 
 
 i6o
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Then she glanced quickly over the dog's red head to 
 the hands that had lifted him to the carriage window. 
 
 "Larry!" she said, below her breath. 
 
 Young Asshlin was standing in the middle of the 
 road — red, shy, and excited. 
 
 " I want you to take him, Clo," he said, awkwardly, 
 "for a — for a wedding-jjresent." 
 
 For one instant Clodagh sat overwhelmed by the 
 suggestion, and next her eyes unconsciously sought 
 Milbanke's. 
 
 "May I?" she said, hesitatingly. It was her first 
 faltering acknowledgment that her actions were no 
 longer quite her own. 
 
 Milbanke started. 
 
 "Oh, assuredly," he said. "Assuredly." 
 
 And Clodagh opened the carriage door and took 
 Mick into her arms. 
 
 For one moment the joy of reunion submerged 
 every other feeling ; then she raised a glowing, grateful 
 face to her cousin. 
 
 "Larry — " she began, softly. 
 
 But old Burke leaned down from his seat. 
 
 "We'll be late for the thrain," he announced, im- 
 perturbably. 
 
 Again Milbanke started nervously. 
 
 "Perhaps, Clodagh — " he began. 
 
 Clodagh bent her head. 
 
 "Shut the door, Larry," she said. " And — and you 
 were a darling to think of it!" 
 
 Asshlin closed the door. 
 
 "Good-bye, Nance! Good-bye, sir! Good-bye, 
 Clo!" 
 
 He looked bravely into the carriage, but his face 
 was still preternaturally red. 
 
 Clodagh turned to him impulsively. 
 II i6i
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Larry — " she began again. 
 
 But the horses started forward, and the boy, Hfting 
 his cap, stepped back into the roadway. 
 
 Clodagh stooped forward, waved her hand un- 
 evenly, then dropped back into her seat. 
 
 While the horses covered a quarter of a mile, she 
 sat without movement or speech. But at last, lifting 
 his great, adoring eyes to her face, Mick ventured to 
 touch her hand with a warm, reminding tongue. 
 
 The gentle appeal of the action — the hundred 
 memories it evoked— was instantaneous and supreme. 
 In a sudden, irrepressible tide, her grief, her un- 
 certainty of the future, her homesickness inundated 
 her soul. With a quick gesture she flung away both 
 pride and restraint, and, hiding her face against the 
 dog's rough coat, cried as if she had been a child.
 
 XVII 
 
 IT was nine o'clock on a morning four years after 
 the wedding at Carrigmore; the season was late 
 spring; the scene was Italy; and Florence — the city 
 of tranquillity made manifest — lay at rest under its 
 coverlet of sun and roses. In the soft, early light 
 the massed buildings of the town seemed to blend 
 together until, to the dazzled eyes, the Arno looked 
 a mere ribbon of silver as it wound under its bridges, 
 and the splendid proportions of the Duomo became 
 lost in the blue haze that presaged the hot day to 
 come. 
 
 The scene was vaguely beautiful, viewed from any 
 of the hills that guard the city ; but from no point 
 was its soft picturesqueness more remarkable than 
 from the terraces and windows of a villa that nestled 
 in a curve of the narrow, winding road between San 
 Domenico and Fiesole. This villa, unlike its neigh- 
 bors, was long and low in structure; and in addition 
 to the stone urns, luxurious flowering plants, and wide, 
 painted jalousies common to Italian houses, it boasted 
 other and more individual attractions — to be found 
 in a flight of singularly old and picturesque marble 
 steps that led from one level of its garden to another, 
 and in the unusual magnificence of the cypresses that 
 grew in an imposing semicircle upon the upper 
 terrace. 
 
 It was under the shade of these sombre trees that 
 
 163
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 a breakfast-table stood, awaiting occupation, on this 
 particular morning at the hour of nine. The table 
 in itself formed a picture, for in the warm shafts of 
 sun that slipped between the cypress-trees, silver and 
 glass gleamed invitingly, while in their midst an 
 immense Venetian bowl filled with roses made a 
 patch of burning color. Everything was attractive, 
 refined, appetizing; and yet, for some undiscernible 
 reason, the inmates of the villa appeared in no haste 
 to enjoy the meal that awaited them. 
 
 For fully ten minutes after the coffee had been laid 
 upon the table the Italian man-servant, whose duty 
 it was to wait at breakfast, stood immovably atten- 
 tive, his back stiff, his glance resting expectantly 
 upon the veranda; then his natural interest in the 
 meal caused him to alter his position and cast a 
 sympathetic eye upon the coffee in imminent danger 
 of growing cold. 
 
 Five more minutes passed. He looked again at 
 the villa, sighed, and gracefully flicked a fly from the 
 basket of crisp rolls. Then suddenly he stood newly 
 erect and attentive as his quick ear caught the swish 
 of a skirt and the sound of a light step. A moment 
 later Clodagh emerged upon the sunny terrace, fol- 
 lowed by her dog Mick. 
 
 At any period of existence, four years is a span 
 of time to be reckoned with. But when four years 
 serves to bridge the gulf between childhood and 
 womanhood its power is wellnigh limitless. As 
 Clodagh Milbanke stepped through the long window 
 of her room and came slowly out into the morning 
 light, it would have been a close observer indeed who 
 would, at a first glance, have recognized the un- 
 formed girl of four years ago in the graceful, welK 
 dressed woman moving so sedately through the 
 
 164
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Italian sunshine. On a second glance, or a third, one 
 would undoubtedly have seen traces of the long, un- 
 developed limbs in the tall, supple figure; caught a 
 suggestion of the rough, luxurious plait in the golden- 
 brown hair coiled about the well-shaped head ; and 
 have been fascinated by numerous undeniable and 
 hatmting suggestions in contour and coloring. But 
 there memory would have hesitated. The Clodagh 
 who had scoured the woods, scrambled over the rocks, 
 and galloped across the lands of Orristown was no 
 longer visible. Another being, infinitely more dis- 
 tinguished, infinitely more attractive — and yet vague- 
 ly deprived of some essential quality— had taken her 
 place. In the four years that had passed since she 
 left Ireland she had, from being a child, become a 
 woman, and below the new beauty that nature had 
 painted upon her face lay an intangible, a poignantly 
 suggested regret for the girlhood that had been 
 denied her. 
 
 As she stepped out upon the terrace she paused for 
 a moment, and her eyes travelled mechanically over 
 Florence — warm, beautiful, inert. Then, with the 
 same uninterested calm, she turned slowly towards 
 the breakfast - table ; but there her glance bright- 
 ened. 
 
 "Oh, letters!" she said, aloud, and with an im- 
 pulsive movement she hurried forward, letting her 
 elaborate muslin dress trail unheeded behind her. 
 
 Scarcely seeing the profound bow with which the 
 man-servant greeted her, she picked up the letters 
 and scanned them one by one. Then, as she dis- 
 appointedly threw the last back upon the table, she 
 half turned in acknowledgment of a measured step 
 that came across the terrace from the direction of the 
 house. At the same moment Mick pricked up his 
 
 i6c
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 ears and slowly wagged his tail, while the Italian 
 servant bent his body in a fresh salutation. 
 
 Milbanke — for his was the second step that had 
 disturbed the silence — came forward without haste. 
 Reaching the table, he took Clodagh's left hand and 
 pressed it; then he stooped methodically and patted 
 the dog's head. 
 
 "Good-morning!" he said, gravely. "Are there any 
 letters?" 
 
 "Yes; four, and all for you — as usual." 
 
 He smiled, unobservant of the slightly tired irri- 
 tability of Clodagh's tone. 
 
 "Ah, . indeed!" he said. "That is pleasant. Is 
 there one from Sicily.'' Scarpio promised to let me 
 have the latest details of the great work." 
 
 He took up the four letters and carefully studied 
 the envelopes. As he came to the last his thin face 
 became animated. 
 
 "Ah, this is satisfactory!" he exclaimed. "I 
 knew he would not fail me. What wonderful— what 
 fascinating work it must be!" 
 
 He tore the envelope oj^en and began to peruse the 
 letter. 
 
 While he scanned the opening lines, Clodagh 
 watched him absently; but as the first page fluttered 
 between his fingers she gave a slight, involuntary 
 shrug of the shoulders, and, moving round the table, 
 sank into the seat that the servant drew forward 
 for her. Then, with an uninterested gesture, she 
 poured out two cups of coffee. 
 
 For a while there was silence save for the turning 
 of the letter in its recipient's hand, the occasional 
 snap of Mick's teeth as he attempted to catch a 
 fly, and the thousand impersonal sounds of lazy 
 out-door life that rose about them. At last Mil- 
 
 i66
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 banke looked up, his face tinged witli mild excite- 
 ment. 
 
 "This discovery is very remarkable," he said, 
 "Sicily will obtain a new importance." 
 
 Clodagh smiled faintly. 
 
 "In the antiquarian's eyes," she said, with un- 
 conscious irony. There was no bitterness and no 
 impatience in her voice. She spoke as if stating 
 a fact that long familiarity had rendered absolutely 
 barren. 
 
 Looking back over the four years of her marriage, 
 it seemed to her that life had been one round of 
 archaeological discovering — all timed to take place at 
 the wrong season. She vividly remembered the first 
 of these events — the discovery of some subterranean 
 passages in the neighborhood of Carrara, which 
 had taken place two months after their arrival in 
 Italy, while life yet retained something of the dark, 
 vague semblance usually associated with a nightmare. 
 Still desperately homesick and unreasonably miser- 
 able in her new position, she had eagerly grasped at 
 Milbanke's suggestion that they should visit the 
 scene of these excavations. But with this first essay 
 her interest in discoveries had taken permanent 
 flight. 
 
 The heat had been tremendous, the country parched 
 and imsympathetic, the associations terribly un- 
 congenial. She remembered the first morning when 
 she and Nance, stifling in their black dresses, had by 
 tacit consent stolen away from the party of fellow- 
 enthusiasts to which Milbanke had attached himself, 
 and, climbing to the summit of a low, olive-crowned 
 hill, had sat, tired, silent, and unutterably wretched, 
 looking out upon the arid land. 
 
 But that excursion had been the prelude to a new 
 
 167
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 era. Visits to various antiquities had succeeded each 
 other with dull regularity, broken by long, unevent- 
 ful sojourns in the green seclusion of the villa at 
 Florence. Then the first break had occurred in the 
 companionship of the trio. Nance had been sent 
 home to an English school. 
 
 Clodagh's acceptance of this fiat had been curiously 
 interesting — as had been her whole attitude towards 
 Milbanke and his wishes. From the day on which 
 she recognized that the state of matrimony was 
 something irrevocably serious, she had taken upon 
 herself an attitude of reserved surrender that was 
 difficult to analyze — difficult even to superficially 
 understand. By a strangely immature process of 
 deduction, she had satisfied herself that marriage 
 was a state of bondage — more or less distasteful as 
 chance decreed. A state in which, by a fundamental 
 law of nature, submission and self-repression were 
 the chief factors necessary upon the woman's side. 
 
 As sometimes happens when there is a great dis- 
 parity in years, the wedded state had widened instead 
 of lessening the gulf between Milbanke and herself. 
 It had cast a sudden, awkward restraint upon the 
 affection and respect that his actions had kindled 
 in her mind, while inspiring no new or ardent feelings 
 to take its place. Ridiculously — and yet naturally — 
 her husband had become an infinitely more distant 
 and unapproachable being than her father's friend 
 had been. And to this new key she had, perforce, 
 attuned her existence. 
 
 With a greater number of years — even with a little 
 more worldly experience — she might have made a 
 vastly different business of her life; for, at the time 
 of his marriage, Milbanke had been hovering upon 
 the borderland of that fatuous love in which an old 
 
 1 68
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 man can lose himself so completely. If, in those 
 first months, she had permitted any of the ardor, any 
 of the fascination of her nature to shine upon him, 
 she might have led him by a silken thread in what- 
 ever direction she pleased. But three factors had 
 precluded this — her youth, her inexperience, her en- 
 tire ignorance of artifice. In her primary encounter 
 with the realities of life she had lost her strongest 
 weapon — her frank, unswerving fearlessness — and in 
 lieu of this she had, in the moment of first panic, 
 seized upon the nearest substitute, and had wrapped 
 herself in an armor of cold, impregnable reserve. 
 
 And before this armor the weapons of Milbaruke's 
 love had been turned aside. There had been no 
 scenes, no harassing disillusionment; but gradually, 
 inevitably his original attitude with regard to her — 
 his shy reticence, his uncertainty, as in the presence 
 of some incomprehensible quality — had returned. 
 He had slowly but surely withdrawn into himself, 
 turning with a groping, pathetic eagerness to the 
 interests that had previously usurped his thoughts. 
 With the nervous sensitiveness that warred continu- 
 ously with his matter-of-fact precision, he became un- 
 comfortably conscious of occupying a false position, 
 of having made an indisputable — almost a ridicu- 
 lous — mistake ; and he had taken a blind leap towards 
 the quarter in which he believed compensation to 
 lie. And Clodagh, vaguely divining this — vaguely 
 remorseful, of what she scarcely knew — had held 
 her own enthusiasms more rigidly in check, schooling 
 herself into acquiescence with every impersonal sug- 
 gestion that he chose to make. 
 
 From this had arisen the pursuit of the antique 
 in whatever corner of Europe — and at whatever 
 season of the year — circumstances might decree. To 
 
 169
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Clodagh the pilgrimages had seemed unutterably- 
 wearisome and imutterably foolish; but there is a 
 great capacity for silent endurance in the Irish 
 nature. Quick-blooded though it may be, it possesses 
 that strong fatahstic instinct that accepts without 
 question the decree of the gods. The spirit of revolt 
 is not lacking in it ; but it requires a given atmosphere 
 — a given sequence of events — to bring it into ac- 
 tivity. At two-and-twenty Clodagh was weary of 
 her husband, of herself, of her hfe. But precisely as 
 her father had fretted out his existence in the quiet 
 monotony of Orristown, she had accepted her fate 
 without thought of question. 
 
 In the second year, when they had travelled to 
 England with Nance, Milbanke had suggested a 
 visit to Ireland, but this proposal she had declined. 
 The days when every fibre of her being had yearned 
 for her own country were past, and the idea of re- 
 turn had lost its savor. 
 
 As she sat now sipping her coffee, and gazing ab- 
 stractedly down to where the hot sun glinted on the 
 Arno, it seemed to her that her life — the glorious, 
 exuberant state that she had been accustomed to call 
 her life — had drifted incredibly far away; that it lay 
 asleep, if not already dead, in some intangible realm 
 widely beyond her reach. She thought of Nance 
 away at her English school, and unconsciously she 
 envied her. To be fifteen, and to be surrounded 
 by young people! Involuntarily she sighed; and 
 Mick, ever acutely sensitive to her change of 
 mood, turned and pressed his cold nose against her 
 knee. 
 
 Mechanically she put down her hand and pulled one 
 of his soft ears; then suddenly she raised her head, 
 attracted by an exclamation of impatience in Mil- 
 
 170
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 banke's usually placid voice. Looking up, she saw 
 that he had opened a second letter. 
 
 "What is it?" she asked, her momentary curiosity 
 dropping back to indifference. " Was that last 
 intaglio unauthentic, after all ?" 
 
 Milbanke glanced up with an annoyed expression. 
 
 "This does not concern the intaglio," he said. 
 "This is from Barnard — David Barnard, the friend 
 who acts as my broker and looks after my business 
 affairs. You have heard me speak of him." 
 
 "Of course. Often." An expression of interest 
 awakened in Clodagh's face. 
 
 " Well, this letter is from him — written from Milan. 
 Most tiresome and annoying its coming at this junct- 
 ure!" He scanned the letter for the second time. 
 "I particularly want to run down into Sicily before 
 Scarpio leaves." 
 
 "And does the letter prevent you?" There was 
 interest and a slight hopefulness in the tone of Clo- 
 dagh's voice. 
 
 "I — I am very much afraid that it does." 
 
 "But why?" 
 
 He folded the letter carefully and returned it to the 
 envelope. 
 
 "Because Barnard is coming to Venice in two 
 days and suggests that I should meet him there." 
 
 "Venice!" Clodagh said the word softly. 
 
 "Yes. Most tiresome! Most annoying! But he 
 thinks it an opportunity that should not be lost. 1 
 have not had an interview with him since the 
 occasion upon which we left Nance at school. He 
 came then to our hotel in London; I do not think 
 you met him." 
 
 "No; but I remember his coming to see you. T 
 remember Nance and 1 thought he had such a jolly 
 
 171
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 laugh; we heard it from her bedroom — the one that 
 opened off our sitting-room." 
 
 With the mention of this new subject, trivial 
 though it was, Clodagh's manner had changed. 
 
 "But what about Venice?" she asked, after a 
 moment's pause. "Will you go?" 
 
 Milbanke looked thoughtful. 
 
 "Well, I — I scarcely know what to say. Of course 
 I could refuse on the grotmd of this business in 
 Sicily. But it is a question of expediency. A few 
 days with Barnard now may save me a journey to 
 London next year. Still, it is very provoking!" 
 
 "But Venice!" Clodagh suggested, and again her 
 tone was soft. More than any other in Italy, the 
 beautiful city of the Adriatic had appealed to her 
 curiosity and her imagination. With a quick glance 
 her eyes travelled over the sheltered, drowsy garden, 
 sloping downward, terrace below terrace. 
 
 "I should love to see Venice," she said, suddenly. 
 "I always picture it so wide and silent and mys- 
 terious." 
 
 Milbanke looked up from the opening of his third 
 letter. 
 
 "Venice is imhealthy," he said, prosaically. 
 
 For one moment her lip curled. 
 
 "Perhaps that is why it appeals to me," she said, 
 with a flash of the old, insubordinate spirit. Then 
 suddenly her eyes met her husband's quiet, puzzled 
 gaze and the passing light died out of her face. 
 With a hasty gesture she lifted her coffee-cup to her 
 lips and set it down empty. 
 
 "Come along, Mick!" she said, pushing back her 
 chair and speaking with unconscious sarcasm. " Come 
 and let us see whether we can find any roses in the 
 garden!" 
 
 172
 
 XVIII 
 
 CLODAGH'S manner was careless and her gait 
 nonchalant as she rose from table and crossed 
 the terrace followed by her dog; but inwardly she 
 burned with a newly kindled sense of anticipation. 
 There was no particular reason why the idea of a 
 journey to Venice, for the purpose of seeing a stock- 
 broker — even though that stock-broker was a per- 
 sonal friend of Milbanke's — should be instinct with 
 any promise; yet the idea excited her. With the 
 exception of the journey to England with Nance, it 
 was the first time in four years that her husband had 
 seriously contemplated any move not ostensibly con- 
 nected with his hobby. And the thought of Venice, 
 the suggestion of encountering any one whose in- 
 terests lay outside antiquities, had the power to elate 
 her. As she left the breakfast - table her steps un- 
 consciously quickened; and Mick, attentively sensi- 
 tive to her altered gait, wagged his short tail, gave 
 one sharp, incisive bark of question, and looked up 
 at her with ears inquisitively pricked. 
 
 She paused and looked down at him. 
 
 " Mick, darling," she whispered. " Imagine Venice 
 at night — the music and the water and the romance! 
 And just think" — her voice dropped still lower — 
 "just think what it would be to meet some one — 
 any one at all — who might happen to notice that 
 one's clothes were new and that one's hair was 
 properly done up!" 
 
 173
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 She bent down. in a sudden impulse of excitement 
 and kissed his upraised head; then, with a quick 
 laugh at her own impetuosity, she turned and ran 
 down the first flight of time-worn marble steps. 
 
 That was her private and personal reception of the 
 news. Later, returning with her arms full of the 
 roses that ran riot in the garden, she was able to meet 
 Milbanke with a demeanor of dignified calm, and 
 to answer his questions as to whether her boxes 
 could be packed in two days in a voice that was 
 dutifully submissive and unmoved. 
 
 But the two days of preparation were imbued with 
 a secret joy. There was a new and unending delight 
 in selecting the most beautiful of the dresses in her 
 elaborate wardrobe, and in feeling that at last they 
 were to be seen by eyes that would understand their 
 value. For Milbanke, while never restraining her 
 craving for costly clothes, had, since the day of their 
 marriage, been totally unobservant and indifferent 
 as to whether she wore silk or homespun ; and on the 
 occasions when outside opinions might have been 
 brought to bear upon the matter — namely, the 
 moments when the archaeological excursions were 
 undertaken — necessities of season or expediency had 
 invariably limited her supply of garments to the 
 clothes that would not show the dust or the clothes 
 that would keep out the rain. But now the prospect 
 was different. It was still the season in Venice; 
 she would be justified in bringing the best and most 
 attractive clothes she possessed. The thought was 
 exhilarating; life became a thing of bustle and in- 
 terest. Two and three times a day she drove into 
 Florence to make totally unnecessary purchases; she 
 wrote more than one long letter to Nance; and in- 
 dulged in many a protracted and confidential talk 
 
 174
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 with Mick as they sat together on the edge of the old 
 marble fountain that dripped and dozed in the sun. 
 
 By a hundred actions, obvious or obscure, she 
 made it plain in those days of preparation that, 
 despite the fact that her childhood lay behind her, 
 and that she had known none of the intermediate 
 pleasures of ordinary girlhood, she was a woman 
 whose heart, whose capacity for enjoyment, whose 
 comprehension of life was extraordinarily — even 
 dangerously — young. 
 
 At last the day dawned upon which they left the 
 villa on the sunny hill — said good-bye to the wide, 
 slow river, the riotous roses, and the slow -tolling 
 bells of Florence — and took train for the north. 
 
 Through the hours of that railway journey Clo- 
 dagh sat almost silent. To her eager mind, already 
 springing forward towards the enchanted city, there 
 was no need for speech; and the quiet, prim hus- 
 band seated opposite to her made no call upon her 
 imagination. He was essential to the journey — as 
 the padded cushion behind her head or the English 
 books and magazines by her side were essential to it 
 — and for this reason he occupied that most fatal of 
 all positions, the position of an accepted, familiar 
 accessory. The early days of their marriage, when 
 in her eyes he had taken on a new and dreaded 
 aspect, were entirely past. With his supersensi- 
 tiveness and constitutional self - distrust, he had 
 withdrawn somewhat hastily from the position of 
 lover to shelter behind the cloak of his former 
 guardianship. And Clodagh had hailed the change 
 of attitude with obvious relief. 
 
 Now, as she sat eagerly alert to gain her first 
 glimpse of Venice, she had almost forgotten that 
 those early days had ever existed. For the moment 
 
 175
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Milbanke was a cipher, and she an ardent, apprecia- 
 tive individual undergoing a new sensation. 
 
 Such was her precise mental position when at last 
 the scene for which she waited broke upon her view. 
 Rising straight out of the water, Venice seemed to 
 her ardent eyes even more the product of a visionary 
 world than her dreams had made it. The hour was 
 seven, and from the many spires and domes of the 
 city warm gleams of bronze or gold shot forth at the 
 touch of the setting sun. But the prevailing note 
 of color that gleamed through the mauve twilight 
 was white — the wonderful, semitransparent white of 
 ancient marble backgrounded by sea and sky. 
 
 The effect made upon Clodagh's mind by this 
 white city wrapped in its evening veil was instanta- 
 neous and deep. With the exception of Florence, 
 her knowledge of the beauties of Italy was very lim- 
 ited; and her first glimpse of Florence had been 
 gained under such unpropitious circumstances that 
 its sheltered loveliness had never subsequently ap- 
 pealed to her as it might otherwise have done. 
 Now, however, her condition of mind was tranquil, 
 if not happy; and as the train sped forward she 
 gazed spellbound at this beauty at once so tangible 
 and so unreal. 
 
 To every traveller it must come with the sense of 
 desecration that this most magical of cities is ap- 
 proached by nothing less prosaic than an ordinary 
 railway terminus. And Clodagh gave a little invol- 
 untary gasp of disappointment as the train swerved 
 suddenly, exchanging the glamour of the outer world 
 for a noisy station that might have belonged to any 
 town; and as she rose from her seat, arranged her 
 hat, and collected her books, she wondered for one 
 moment whether the vision just hidden from her 
 
 176
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 view was in reality the handiwork of man and not 
 some mirage conjured up by her own imagination. 
 So strong was the feeHng that she remained silent 
 as she descended from the train, and waited while 
 Milbanke saw to the collecting of the luggage; then, 
 still without speaking, she followed him down the 
 flight of steps that led to the water. But there, as 
 the prosaic station vanished from consideration, 
 and Venice broke once more upon her view, her emo- 
 tions dominated her. With a quick, unconscious 
 gesture she laid her hand on her husband's arm. 
 
 "Oh, isn't it wonderful?" she said, in a hushed 
 voice. 
 
 Milbanke turned to her uncertainly. 
 
 "Yes, my dear," he said, absently. "Yes. But—" 
 He sniffed critically. "But do you not detect a 
 distinctly unhealthy odor?" 
 
 Clodagh's hand dropped suddenly and expressively 
 to her side, and she wheeled round with unnecessary 
 haste towards the gondola into which the luggage 
 was being piled. 
 
 But even this jarring incident could not mar that 
 first journey in the stately black boat. Every por- 
 tion of the way was instinct with its own especial 
 charm. From the wide dignity of the Grand Canal, 
 with its ancient palaces, its mysterious stream of 
 silent traffic, its occasional note of brilliant modern 
 life, to the fascinating glimpses of narrower water- 
 ways where the women of the people, with uncovered 
 heads and cigarettes between their lips, leaned out 
 of their windows to exchange the day's gossip with a 
 neighbor across the water; all was a delight — some- 
 thing engrossing and unique. Clodagh had no desire 
 to speak as they glided forward ; and when the hotel 
 steps were reached she suffered herself to be assisted 
 
 177
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 from the gondola scarcely certain whether she was 
 dreaming or awake. 
 
 Outside the hotel half a dozen visitors were seated 
 upon the small stone terrace, indolently watching 
 the arrival of new guests; but so absorbed was Clo- 
 dagh in the scene before her that she scarcely ob- 
 served the presence of these people. And when Mil- 
 banke, murmuring an excuse, departed to see after 
 their rooms, she turned again towards the canal that 
 she had just left, and, leaning over the balustrade 
 of the terrace, paused for a moment to study the 
 picture afresh. 
 
 But as she stood there, unconscious of everything 
 but the wonderful, noiseless pageant passing ceaseless- 
 ly through the purple twilight, more than one glance 
 strayed in her own direction. And two at least 
 among the hotel visitors changed their lounging 
 attitudes for the purpose of observing her more 
 closely. 
 
 The two — both men — were simultaneously and 
 noticeably attracted. The elder, who by his ex- 
 tremely fastidious and studied appearance might 
 almost have belonged to another and earlier era than 
 our own, was a man of nearly seventy years old ; the 
 younger was his junior by forty-five years. But — 
 so levelling a thing is spontaneous admiration — the 
 expression upon the two faces, as they leaned sud- 
 denly forward, was strikingly similar. 
 
 The old man held a gold-rimmed eye-glass close to 
 his eye; the younger meditatively removed his cigar- 
 ette from his mouth. But at this critical moment 
 of their close observation, Milbanke reappeared and, 
 moving stiffly across the terrace, touched Clodagh's 
 arm. 
 
 " Mv dear," he said, " our rooms are ready. If you 
 
 178
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 go up-stairs, I will find Barnard. 1 will not dress for 
 dinner to-night. It is after seven o'clock." 
 
 Clodagh turned, her face glowing with the en- 
 thusiasm that filled her mind. 
 
 " All right," she said. " But I think I'll just change 
 into something cool. It won't take me ten minutes." 
 
 Without waiting for his assent, she turned quickly 
 and walked across the terrace to the vestibule of the 
 hotel. 
 
 As she passed the two men in the lounge-chairs, 
 the elder again lifted his eye-glass; while the younger, 
 leaning forward, stared at her with that superb lack 
 of embarrassment or reserve that the young English- 
 man can at times assume. 
 
 "By Jove!" he said, very softly, as the two new 
 arrivals disappeared into the hotel. 
 
 His companion turned to him with a thin, some- 
 what shaky laugh that belied his carefully preserved 
 appearance. 
 
 "Attractive, eh?" he said. 
 
 The other replaced his cigarette in his mouth. 
 
 "What nationality is she?" he asked, after a mo- 
 ment's pause. "I'd feel inclined to say Italian my- 
 self, but the old father's so uncompromisingly Saxon." 
 
 Again the older man laughed — a laugh that ex- 
 pressed unfathomable worldly wisdom. 
 
 "Father!" he said, satirically. "Fathers don't 
 shuflfle round their womenfolk like that. They are 
 husband and wife." 
 
 "Husband and wife!" The other smiled. But 
 the older man pursed up his lips. 
 
 "You'll find I'm right," he said. "She walked 
 three steps ahead of him, to avoid seeing him — and 
 she did it unconsciously. Proof conclusive!" 
 
 The young man laughed. 
 
 179
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Doesn't carry conviction, uncle," he said. "I'll 
 bet you a fiver you're wrong. Will you take me 
 on?" 
 
 His companion smiled langtddly. 
 
 "As you like," he responded. 
 
 The young man nodded ; then he looked down lazily 
 at his flannel suit. 
 
 "I suppose it's time to change," he said, reluctant- 
 ly. "Awful bore being conventional abroad. See 
 you at dinner." 
 
 With another careless nod he lounged off in the 
 direction of the hall. 
 
 Exactly a quarter of an hour later, Clodagh emerged 
 from her bedroom, looking fresh and cool in a dress of 
 rose-colored gauze that, though cut high in the neck 
 and possessing sleeves that reached the wrist, was 
 yet very light and diaphanous in effect. She opened 
 her door, and, mindful of the lateness of the hour, 
 moved quickly out into the corridor. But scarcely 
 had she taken a step in the direction of the stairs 
 than a door exactly opposite to her own was opened 
 with equal haste, and the young Englishman of the 
 terrace appeared before her. Seeing her, he halted 
 involuntarily, and for a second their eyes met. 
 
 The glance was momentary; there was not a word 
 spoken; but irresistibly the color rushed into Clo- 
 dagh 's face. It took her but an instant to regain her 
 composure and to pass down the empty corridor 
 with an added touch of hauteur; but long after she 
 had gained the stairs her heart was beating with a 
 new excitement. The glance that the stranger had 
 given her had been almost ill-bred in its absolute 
 directness; but ill or well bred, there had been no 
 mistaking the unqualified admiration it conveyed. 
 The personality of the man had escaped her atten- 
 
 i8o
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 tion ; the fact that his hair was smooth, his face at- 
 tractive, and his figure unusually tall, slight, and 
 graceful had made no impression upon her. All she 
 was conscious of — all that set her pulses throbbing 
 and her cheeks flushing — was the suddenly awakened 
 knowledge that, within herself, she possessed some 
 sul)tle and previously unrealized power that could 
 compel a man's regard. 
 
 She descended the stairs with a new sensation of 
 elasticity and elation, and at its foot found Milbanke 
 awaiting her, in conversation with a suave, elderly 
 man. 
 
 As she came within speaking distance the two 
 turned towards her. 
 
 "My dear," Milbanke said, quickly, "allow me to 
 introduce Mr. David Barnard. David, this is my — 
 my wife." 
 
 Clodagh looked up curiously, and met the florid 
 face, bland smile, and observant eyes of Barnard — a 
 man who for nearly a quarter of a century had man- 
 aged to prosper in his profession, and at the same 
 time to retain a prominent place in fashionable so- 
 ciety. As their glances met, she held out her hand. 
 
 "How d'you do, Mr. Barnard?" she said. "I 
 believe I've been longing to know you ever since I 
 heard you laugh one day two years ago." 
 
 She spoke warmly — impulsively — almost as Denis 
 Asshlin might have spoken. Involuntarily, Milbanke 
 glanced at her with a species of surprise. In that 
 moment she was neither the frank, fearless child he 
 had first known nor the self-contained, unfathom- 
 able girl who had since become his daily companion. 
 In the crowded, cosmopolitan atmosphere of the 
 hotel she seemed suddenly to display a new in- 
 dividuality. 
 
 i8i
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Barnard took her out-stretched hand and bowed 
 over it impressively. 
 
 "It is very charaiing of you to say that, Mrs. Mil- 
 banke," he murmured. "But I'm afraid James has 
 told me that you come from Ireland!" 
 
 Clodagh laughed. 
 
 "He'll also tell you that I lived quite forty miles 
 from the Blarney stone!" 
 
 She looked up, her face brimming with animation. 
 Then suddenly and involuntarily she colored. The 
 young Englishman of the terrace was coming slowly 
 down the stairs. 
 
 He descended nonchalantly, and as he reached 
 the hall he deliberately paused in front of the little 
 group 
 
 " Hollo, Barny!" he said, easily. "Been playing 
 much bridge this afternoon?" 
 
 Barnard looked round with his tactfully affable 
 smile. 
 
 "Haven't had one rubber," he said. 
 
 "No?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 There was a pause — a seemingly unnecessary and 
 pointless pause — in which Barnard looked suavely at 
 the new-comer; the new-comer looked at Clodagh; 
 and Clodagh looked fixedly out over Milbanke's 
 head. Then at last, and suddenly, the older man 
 seemed to realize that something was expected of 
 him. With a gay gesture he metaphorically swept 
 the silence aside. 
 
 "Mrs. Milbanke," he said, affably, "will you per- 
 mit me to present my friend, Mr. Valentine Serra- 
 cauld?"
 
 XIX 
 
 CLODAGH looked up, coloring afresh, and the 
 young man bowed quickly and eagerly. He 
 belonged to a type new to her but familiar to every 
 social Londoner. The type of young Englishman 
 who, gifted with unusual height and fine possibilities 
 of muscular development, saunters through life — 
 physically and morally — exerting his energy and his 
 strength in one direction only — the eternal, aimless, 
 enervating search after personal pleasure. 
 
 To be explicit, the Honorable Valentine Serracauld 
 was suffering from that most modern of complaints — 
 the lack of surmountable obstacles. The nephew of 
 one of the richest peers in England, he had started 
 life heavily handicapped. A sufficiency of money 
 had rendered work unnecessary; good looks and a 
 naturally ingratiating manner had precluded the 
 need for mental equipment; while his social position 
 had unfairly protected him from any share in the 
 rough-and-tumble existence that moulds and hardens 
 a man's character. At fifteen he had been an aver- 
 age healthy public -school boy; at five -and -twenty 
 he was a fashionable young aristocrat, whose only 
 business in life was the aiding and abetting of his 
 uncle in the absorbing pursuit of killing time. 
 
 He bowed now to Clodagh with the extreme im- 
 pressiveness that men of his type bestow upon a new 
 and promising introduction. 
 
 183
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Charmed to meet you, Mrs. Milbanke," he said. 
 "Are you a resident here — or a bird of passage Hke 
 ourselves?" He indicated Barnard. 
 
 Clodagh met his intent gaze with a renewed thrill 
 of speculative pleasure. 
 
 "My husband and I live at Florence," she ex- 
 plained. " We are only here on business — which 
 sounds a desecration." 
 
 Serracauld continued to watch her. 
 
 "Not if you have any share in it," he said, in a 
 low voice. 
 
 She laughed and blushed. 
 
 "I'm afraid you speak from inexperience," she 
 said. "To the people who know me, I am a very 
 prosaic person." 
 
 She looked involuntarily at Milbanke. 
 
 But Milbanke's eyes were on the groups of hotel 
 guests already moving towards the dining-room. 
 
 "Don't you think we might — might make a 
 move — ?" he hazarded, vaguely. 
 
 There was a very slight pause, then Serracauld 
 responded to the suggestion. 
 
 "You are quite right," he said, easily. "I expect 
 my uncle is looking for me; he usually gets fidgety 
 about feeding-time. Will you excuse me, Mrs. 
 Milbanke ? Perhaps later on I shall have the chance 
 of correcting that inexperience you accuse me of." 
 
 He laughed pleasantly, and, with a courteous gest- 
 ure, disappeared into the crowd that was fast filing 
 out of the hall. 
 
 As he disappeared, Clodagh turned towards the 
 dining-room, leaving Milbanke and Barnard to fol- 
 low; but she had scarcely crossed the hall when the 
 latter overtook her. 
 
 "Well, Mrs. Milbanke," he said, genially, "what 
 
 184
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 do you think of our young friend ? T believe he 
 usually finds favor in ladies' eyes." 
 
 She glanced up. 
 
 "I think him very charming," she said, candidly. 
 "Who is he? Do you know him well?" 
 
 Barnard smiled. 
 
 "I know him since he was a boy at Eton. He is 
 nephew of the famous Lord Deerehurst, who, accord- 
 ing to rumor, spends three hundred a year on silk 
 socks and bathes every morning in scented milk." 
 
 Clodagh made an exclamation of disgust. 
 
 "What an abominable person!" 
 
 Again Barnard smiled. 
 
 "Well, I don't quite know," he said, tolerantly. 
 "Rumor is generally a yard of two in front of reahty. 
 Perhaps Deerehurst is rather a mummified old roue; 
 but then, you know, embalming is a clean process, 
 Mrs. Milbanke, before as well as after death. I 
 sometimes wonder whether our friend Valentine will 
 put the family money to such harmless use, if he 
 ever succeeds to the title. He is next in the suc- 
 cession, but for one feeble life." 
 
 Clodagh's eyes widened. 
 
 "Really!" she said. "I should never have con- 
 nected him with so much responsibihty." 
 
 Barnard looked down at her. 
 
 "Responsibility!" he said. "Where have you 
 been hiding yourself that you should couple a mod- 
 ern peer with responsibilities? I assure you if a 
 duke or an earl is an all - round good fellow nowa- 
 days nobody will trouble to inquire further. But 
 what has become of your husband?" 
 
 He paused and glanced round the fast-emptying hall. 
 
 As he did so Milbanke hurried up, his manner 
 newlv interested, his thin face flushed. 
 
 i8s
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Who do you think I have just seen, Clodagh?" 
 he asked, excitedly. "Mr. Angelo Tomes^that in- 
 teresting scientist who joined our party at Pisa last 
 year." 
 
 Clodagh looked round. 
 
 "What!" she said, in surprise. "The big, untidy- 
 looking man with a face like a goat, who had written 
 a book on something terribly unpronounceable?" 
 
 Milbanke nodded gravely. 
 
 "Yes," he said. "A most interesting and ex- 
 haustive work. I shall make a point of congrat- 
 ulating him upon it directly we have finished din- 
 ner. 
 
 "And what about me?" Barnard eyed him quiz- 
 zically. 
 
 "You! Oh, you must wait, David. You will 
 understand that a man like Mr. Tomes is not to be 
 met with every day." 
 
 They were entering the dining-room as Milbanke 
 spoke, and involuntarily Barnard glanced from the 
 precise, formal figure of his friend to the youthful, 
 attractive form of his friend's wife. 
 
 "And you, Mrs. Milbanke?" he asked, in an under- 
 tone. " Are you an equally great enthusiast ? Does 
 the antique appeal very forcibly to you?" 
 
 As he put the question he was conscious of its 
 irony, but an irrepressible curiosity forced him to 
 utter it. He was still laboring under an intense sur- 
 prise at Milbanke's choice of a wife, and the desire to 
 probe the nature of this strange relationship was 
 strong within him. 
 
 "Are you like the man in the Eastern story?" he 
 added. "Would you barter new lamps for old?" 
 
 Clodagh was walking in front of him as he put the 
 question, and Milbanke was left momentarily behind. 
 
 i86
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 For ca second she made no reply; then suddenly she 
 turned and cast a bright glance over her shoulder. 
 
 "If you had asked me that question this morning, 
 Mr. Barnard," she said, "I don't believe I could have 
 answered it. But now I can. I would not part 
 with one new, bright, comfortable lamp for a hun- 
 dred old ones — no matter how rare. Am I a great 
 vandal?" 
 
 Her eyes were shining with the excitement of the 
 moment, and her face looked beautifully and eagerly 
 alive. 
 
 "Am I a great vandal?" she repeated, softly. 
 
 There was an instant's pause ; then Barnard stepped 
 closer to her side. 
 
 "No, Mrs. Milbanke," he said. "But you are a 
 very unmistakable child of Eve." 
 
 The dinner that night was a feast to Clodagh. She 
 sat between Milbanke and Barnard; and though the 
 former was silently engrossed in the thought of his 
 coming interview, and, for the time being, the latter 
 confined his talk to impersonal subjects, she felt as 
 she had never felt before in the span of her twenty- 
 two years. For the first time she was conscious of 
 being a woman — privileged by right divine to receive 
 the homage and the consideration of men. It was a 
 wonderful, a thrilling discovery ; all the more thrilling 
 and all the more wonderful because shrouded as yet 
 in a veil of mystery. 
 
 Dinner was half-way through before Barnard 
 returned to his task of studying her individually; 
 then he turned to her with his most suavely confi- 
 dential manner. 
 
 " Have you been very gay in Florence this season ?" 
 he asked. 
 
 She looked up quickly. 
 
 187
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Gay?" she repeated. "Oh no. I don't think 
 v/e are ever exactly gay." 
 
 He raised his eyebrows. 
 
 "Indeed!" he said. "You surprise me. There 
 used to be quite an amusing EngHsh crowd at Flor- 
 ence." 
 
 Clodagh colored, feeling vaguely conscious of some 
 want in her social equipment. 
 
 "Oh, I didn't mean the other English residents," 
 she corrected, hastily. "I meant ourselves — James 
 and L" 
 
 Barnard's face became profoundly interested. 
 
 "But don't you care for society?" he said, his eyes 
 travelling expressively over her elaborate dress. 
 
 Again she colored. 
 
 "It isn't that," she said, in a low, quick voice. 
 "James doesn't care about parties — or people — " 
 
 Barnard's lips parted to express surprise or sym- 
 pathy; but she finished her sentence hastily. 
 
 " — And of course I like what he likes." 
 
 Barnard bent his head. 
 
 "Of course," he said, enigmatically, and dropped 
 back into silence. 
 
 For a time he remained apparently absorbed in 
 his dinner. Then, as Clodagh began to wonder un- 
 comfortably whether she had unwittingly offended 
 him, he turned to her again. 
 
 "Mrs. Milbanke," he said, softly, "would you think 
 me very presumptuous if I were to make a little pro- 
 posal?" 
 
 Clodagh brightened. 
 
 "Of course not. Say anything you like." 
 
 "You will be here for a week?" 
 
 " I — I hope so." She glanced covertly at Milbanke. 
 
 "Oh yes, you will. I shall arrange it." 
 
 i88
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 She looked at hiin quickly. 
 
 "You?" she said. "How?" 
 
 "Never mind how." He smiled reassuringly. 
 "You will be here for a week, and my proposal is 
 that while Milbanke is settling his business I should 
 be allowed to introduce you to some English friends 
 of mine who are in Venice just now. It may be 
 presumptuous, but I seem to feel" — he hesitated for 
 a moment — "I seem to feel that you want to make 
 new friends — that you want to have a good time. 
 Forgive my being so very blunt." 
 
 Clodagh sat silent. She felt no resentment at his 
 words, but they vaguely embarrassed her. The 
 new possibility thrilled her; yet insensibly she hesi- 
 tated before it. 
 
 "But ought I to want new friends?" she asked at 
 last, in a very low and undecided voice. 
 
 Barnard laid down the glass that he was lifting to 
 his lips and looked at her quickly. Her freshness 
 charmed while her naivete puzzled him. 
 
 "Well, Mrs. Milbanke," he said, suddenly, "sup- 
 pose we find that out?" 
 
 And, leaning forward, he addressed Milbanke. 
 
 "James," he said, "I have just been making a 
 little suggestion. While you and I are putting our 
 ancient heads together, don't you think Mrs. Mil- 
 banke ought to study her Venice — local color — 
 atmosphere — all that sort of thing?" 
 
 Milbanke turned in his seat. 
 
 " Eh, David ?"heexclaimed. " What's that you say ?" 
 
 "I was suggesting that Mrs. Milbanke should see a 
 little of Venice now that she is here." 
 
 He indicated the long windows of the dining-room 
 through which the sound of voices and light music 
 was already being borne on the purple twilight. 
 
 189
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Milbanke's face became slightly disturbed. 
 
 "Of course — of course!" he said, vaguely. "But 
 — but neither of us care much for conventional sight- 
 seeing; and then, you know, my time here is limited." 
 
 "Exactly! Exactly what I was saying. Your 
 time is valuable. All the more danger of Mrs. Mil- 
 banke's hanging heavy on her hands. Now there 
 are some charming people staying here at present 
 who would be only too delighted to make her visit 
 pleasant." 
 
 Milbanke's expression cleared. 
 
 "Oh, well — " he began, in a relieved voice. 
 
 "Exactly! Lady Frances Hope is here. You 
 remember Lady Frances who married my cousin 
 Sammy Hope — the red-headed Httle beggar who 
 went into the navy ? She would be immensely in- 
 terested in Mrs. Milbanke. I wish you would let 
 me make them known to each other." 
 
 He smiled suavely, thoroughly in his element at 
 the prospect of working a little social scheme. 
 
 Milbanke looked at Clodagh. 
 
 " What do you think, my dear?" he asked, vaguely. 
 
 Clodagh looked down at her plate. 
 
 "I don't quite know," she murmured. 
 
 Barnard leaned close to her in a confiding manner. 
 
 "Quite right, Mrs. Milbanke," he said. "Never 
 trouble to analyze your feelings. Just give them a 
 free rein. Lady Frances Hope is a most charming 
 woman. Always bright, always good-natured, al- 
 ways in the swim — if you understand that very ex- 
 pressive phrase." 
 
 Clodagh smiled as she helped herself to an ice. 
 During their conversation the dinner had drawn 
 towards its close, and here and there people were 
 already rising from table and moving towards the 
 
 190
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 hall or the long windows that opened on to the 
 canal. Unconsciously her eyes turned in the direc- 
 tion of these open windows, through which a flood 
 of light streamed out upon the water, bringing into 
 prominence the dark gondolas that flitted perpetually 
 to and fro like great black bats. 
 
 Seeing her glance, Barnard turned to her again. 
 
 "Shall we charter a gondola?" he asked. "It's 
 the thing to do here." 
 
 Her eyes sparkled. 
 
 "Oh, how lovely!" she said; then involuntarily her 
 face fell and she looked at her husband. 
 
 "But perhaps — " she began, deprecatingly. 
 
 As the word escaped her, Milbanke — who had been 
 oblivious of the conversation — pushed back his 
 chair and rose from table with a faint exclamation 
 of excitement. 
 
 "Ah, there he is!" he cried, his eyes fixed upon a 
 distant corner of the room. "There he is! I must 
 not run the risk of missing him!" 
 
 Clodagh turned to him eagerly. 
 
 "James," she began, "Mr. Barnard says — " 
 
 But Milbanke's mind was elsewhere. 
 
 "My dear," he said, hurriedly, "you must really 
 excuse me. A man like Mr. Angelo Tomes is a 
 personage of importance." 
 
 "Yes; but. James—" 
 
 She paused, disconcerted. Milbanke had left the 
 table. 
 
 For quite a minute she sat silent, her cheeks burn- 
 ing and her eyes smarting with a sudden, intolerable 
 sense of mortification and neglect. To a reasoning 
 and experienced mind the incident would have 
 carried no weight; at most it would have offered 
 grounds for a passing amusement. But with Clodagh 
 
 191
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 the case was different. Circumstances had never 
 demanded the cultivation of her reason, and ex- 
 perience was an asset she was not possessed of. To 
 her sensitive, youthful susceptibilities the incident 
 could only wear one complexion. Her husband had 
 obviously and wittingly humiliated her in presence of 
 his friend. 
 
 She sat with tightened lips, staring unseeingly at 
 the table. 
 
 Then suddenly and softly some one crossed the 
 room behind her and paused beside her chair. Turning 
 with a little start, she saw the pale, clean-cut features 
 and searching, dark eyes of Valentine Serracauld. 
 
 "Mrs. Milbanke," he said at once, in his easy, in- 
 gratiating voice, "if you are not doing anything 
 else this evening, may I place my uncle's gondola at 
 your disposal ? Both he and I would be consider- 
 ably honored if you and your husband — " 
 
 Clodagh looked up into his face with a quick glance 
 of pleasure and relief. 
 
 "Oh, thank you," she said. "Thank you so very 
 inuch. 1 should love to come, only my husband is 
 — is busy to-night." 
 
 She paused, and in the pause Barnard leaned close 
 to her again with his most friendly and reassuring 
 manner. 
 
 "After all, Mrs. Milbanke," he said, "do you 
 think that need preclude you from the enjoyment? 
 James is perfectly happy ; Lord Deerehurst's gondola 
 is quite the most comfortable in Venice; and Lm 
 sure Vm staid enough to play propriety! Suppose 
 we make a party of four?" 
 
 Serracauld laughed delightedly. 
 
 "How splendid!" he said. "Mrs. Milbanke, may 
 I find my uncle and bring him to be introduced?" 
 
 192
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 He bent forward quickly, leaning across Milbanke's 
 empty chair. 
 
 For one second Clodagh sat irresolute ; then she 
 glanced swiftly from one interested, admiring face 
 to the other, and again the blood rushed into her 
 face in a wave of self-conscious pride. With a 
 sudden smile she looked up into Serracauld's eyes. 
 
 "Yes," she said, softly. "Yes. Bring your uncle 
 to be introduced." 
 13
 
 XX 
 
 SERRACAULD smiled his acknowledgment of the 
 granted permission, and departed in search of his 
 uncle, while Barnard looked at Clodagh with amused 
 interest. 
 
 " If you can waive your prejudices against the milk 
 baths, Mrs. Milbanke," he said, "you'll find old Deere- 
 hurst quite a delightful person. But, of course, when 
 one is very young, prejudices are adhesive things." 
 
 He finished his coffee meditatively, shooting a 
 glance at Clodagh from the corner of his eye. 
 
 Clodagh remained silent for a moment, tentatively 
 fingering her cup. 
 
 "Do I seem so very young?" she asked at last, 
 without raising her eyes. 
 
 At the words he turned and looked at her fully. 
 
 "Do you know, Mrs. Milbanke," he said, seriously, 
 " I am literally devoured by a desire to ask you your 
 age? When I saw you come down-stairs to-night, I 
 felt — pardon the rudeness — like laughing in James's 
 face when he introduced you as his wife. You 
 scarcely looked eighteen. But just this moment, 
 when you spoke of your life at Florence, I suddenly 
 felt out in my calculations. Your face, of course, 
 seemed just as fascinatingly young; but from your 
 expression I could have believed you to be twenty- 
 four. And now again — please do be lenient to my 
 impertinence — now again, as you spoke to Serra- 
 
 194
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 cauld you looked like a child turning the first page 
 in the book of life. Are you an enigma?" 
 
 During the first portion of his speech Clodagh 
 had looked grave; but at his last words she laughed 
 with a touch of constraint. 
 
 "No," she answered. "I am nothing half so in- 
 teresting — and it's four years since I was eighteen. 
 But hadn't I better get my cloak before Mr. Serra- 
 cauld comes back?" 
 
 With another slightly embarrassed laugh she rose, 
 and, without waiting for Barnard's escort, walked out 
 of the room. 
 
 Ten minutes later she descended the stairs, wrapped 
 in a light evening cloak. Her cheeks were still 
 flushed with excitement and her hazel eyes were 
 dark with anticipation. Yesterday — only yester- 
 day — she had been a mere item in the secluded, un- 
 important life of the villa at Florence; now, to-night, 
 three men — each one of whom must, in his time, 
 have known superlatively interesting and beautiful 
 women — awaited her pleasure! 
 
 As she stepped across the hall Serracauld darted 
 forward to meet her. 
 
 "This is very gracious of you," he murmured. "I 
 hear it is your first evening in Venice." 
 
 She glanced up at him as they moved slowly for- 
 ward across the hall. 
 
 "My very first evening," she said, softly. "And 
 I so want to enjoy it." 
 
 He paused deliberately, and looked at her. 
 
 "May I take that as permission to make it enjoy- 
 able— if I can ?" 
 
 Her lashes drooped in instinctive, native coquetry. 
 
 "Aren't you going to introtluce your uncle to me?" 
 she said, in a lowered voice. 
 
 ^9S
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 He looked at her mystified and attracted. 
 
 "If I knew you better, Mrs. Milbanke — " he began. 
 
 But without replying, Clodagh moved away from 
 him across the hall and out on to the terrace. There, 
 transfixed by a new impression, she paused invol- 
 untarily. 
 
 Venice is beautiful in the morning and exquisite 
 in the twilight, but it is at night that the mystery of 
 Venice — that most subtle of its many charms — 
 enwraps and envelops it like a magic web. There 
 is nothing in Europe to rival the literal, tangible 
 romance of Venice at night. The faint, idle, in- 
 finitely suggestive lap of water against a thousand 
 unseen steps; the secret darkness, revealed rather 
 than dispersed by the furtive, uneven lights shed 
 forth from windows or open doors; the throb of 
 music that seems woven into the picture — an in- 
 separable, integral part of the enchanted life. All 
 — collectively and separately — is a wonder and a 
 joy. 
 
 To Clodagh, with her inherent appreciation of 
 things mystic and beautiful, the scene was a narcotic. 
 In an ecstasy, she stood drinking it in; then, sud- 
 denly touched with the warm desire of sharing her 
 impressions, she turned to the companion who had 
 followed her. 
 
 "Isn't it — wonderful?" she said, below her breath. 
 
 Serracauld looked at her for a moment in puzzled 
 doubt; then he smiled indulgently. 
 
 "Yes," he said, vaguely. "Yes. It is rather 
 great — the singing and the gondolas and — and all 
 that sort of thing — " 
 
 Her large, clear eyes rested on his face, then slowly 
 returned to their scrutiny of the canal. A momentary 
 sense of disappointment had assailed her; she was 
 
 196 
 
 J
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 conscious of a momentary jar. But as she stood, 
 silent and uncertain, a fresh burst of low, throbbing 
 music broke across the darkness, and at the same 
 moment she became conscious of a large gondola 
 gliding up to the hotel steps. 
 
 With the excitement of anticipation, the cloud 
 passed from her face. 
 
 "Come!" she cried. "Come! I see Mr. Bar- 
 nard." 
 
 It was at the head of the flight of stone steps lead- 
 ing to the water that Lord Deerchurst was introduced 
 to her; and in the scmidarkness it struck her that 
 he made a distinctly interesting figure, with his 
 black hair worn a shade lower on the forehead than 
 modem fashion permits, his pale, aristocratic, un- 
 emotional face, his cold, penetrating eyes, and the 
 somewhat unusual evening clothes that fitted his 
 tall figure closely, and, by a clever touch of the tailor's 
 art, conveyed the suggestion of an era more pictu- 
 resque than our own. She studied him with deep at- 
 tention, and bent her head in gratified acknowledg- 
 ment of the profound bow with which he marked the 
 introduction. A moment later he offered her his 
 hand, and himself assisted her to the waiting gon- 
 dola. 
 
 With a pleasant, excited sense of dignity and im- 
 portance, she passed down the steps and entered the 
 boat, noting as she took her seat its costly and 
 elaborate fittings and the picturesque livery of the 
 two gondoliers; then, as she leaned back against the 
 cushions that supported her, her eyes passed back 
 interestedly to the three men to whom she owed the 
 night's adventure. 
 
 Lord Deerehurst came first, moving with a certain 
 stifl dignity, and appropriated the seat by her side; 
 
 197
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Barnard and Serracauld followed, placing themselves 
 on the two smaller seats that flank the stern; and a 
 moment later she saw the gondoliers swing lithely 
 round into their allotted positions, and felt the gon- 
 dola shoot out swiftly and silently into the dark 
 waters. 
 
 Following the custom of the place, the gondoliers 
 headed for the point where the idle and the pleasure- 
 seeking of Venice gather nightly to listen to the 
 music and lazily watch the swaying paper lanterns 
 of the musicians' gondolas. 
 
 Clodagh sat silent as they skimmed onward. She 
 was bending slightly forward, her whole attitude an 
 unconscious typifying of expectancy; her hands were 
 lightly clasped in her lap, and again the golden hazel 
 of her eyes was darkened by their dilated pupils. 
 
 As the gondola slackened speed and the throbbing 
 music became nearer, more intoxicating, more dis- 
 tinct. Lord Deerehurst, who had been covertly study- 
 ing her, leaned suddenly close to her. 
 
 "You are a great appreciator of the beautiful, Mrs. 
 Milbanke," he said, in his thin, high-bred voice. 
 
 Clodagh started, and, glancing from one to the 
 other of the three men, laughed shyly. 
 
 "Why do you say that?" she asked. 
 
 " Because I have presumed to watch your face." 
 
 She blushed; and Barnard, feeling rather than 
 seeing her embarrassment, made haste to reassure 
 her. 
 
 "Mrs. Milbanke is an adept in the appreciation of 
 beauty," he said, with a laugh. "She was brought 
 up on the study of it." 
 
 Again Clodagh colored, and again she gave a shy 
 laugh. 
 
 "If you say that, Mr. Barnard," she said, "I shall 
 
 198
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 accuse you of being a fellow-countryman. I am 
 Irish, you know." She turned and looked up at 
 Deerchurst. 
 
 The old peer again bent forward interestedly. 
 
 "Indeed!" he exclaimed. "Then we have a bond 
 of sympathy. Some of my best friends come from 
 Ireland." 
 
 His voice was high and possessed no fulness, but 
 he had the same courteously ingratiating manner 
 that belonged to his nephew ; while a larger acquaint- 
 ance with the world had taught him an adaptability 
 to circumstances — and persons — that Serracauld had 
 not troubled to acquire. As he spoke now he brought 
 a tone of deference and friendliness into his words 
 that touched Clodagh to a feeling of companionship. 
 
 "Then you know Ireland?" she said, quickly. 
 
 "Very well indeed." 
 
 Her expression softened. 
 
 "When were you there last?" she asked, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 " Last autumn. I was staying at Arranmore with — " 
 
 "With Lord Muskeere. I know. I know. Why, 
 you were in our county. My father often and often 
 stayed at Arranmore before — " She checked herself 
 hastily. "Oh, long ago, before — before I was bom," 
 she added, a little awkwardly. "It was from a 
 stream that runs by Arranmore that he took my 
 name — Clodagh." 
 
 "Indeed! What a charming idea!" 
 
 Deerehurst raised his gold-rimmed eye-glass and 
 peered at her through the dusk. 
 
 At the same moment Serracauld leaned forward in 
 his seat. 
 
 "Clodagh!" he repeated. "Clodagh! What a 
 pretty name!" 
 
 199
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Once more, and without apparent reason, Clodagh 
 felt her heart beat unevenly. With a short laugh 
 she turned to Barnard. 
 
 "And you, Mr. Barnard," she said, hastily; "do 
 you like the name?" 
 
 Barnard made a suave gesture. 
 
 "I say that it fits its owner." 
 
 Once more she laughed with a tinge of nervous 
 excitement. 
 
 "A very guarded statement," she said, brightly. 
 "I think we had better talk about something else. 
 Who are the people I am to meet here ? Mr. Barnard 
 kindly wants to provide me with new friends." 
 
 She turned again to Deerehurst. 
 
 "Indeed!" Once more he lifted the gold-rimmed 
 eye-glass, this time to study Barnard. 
 
 "Yes," broke in Barnard, genially. "Mrs. Mil- 
 banke's husband and I have met here to talk shop; 
 and I have a shrewd presentiment that, unless we 
 provide her with a diverting channel or two, Mrs. 
 Milbanke may find Venice a bore." 
 
 "I could never do that." 
 
 Clodagh turned an animated face towards the dark 
 flotilla, on the outskirts of which their own gondola 
 was hovering. 
 
 "But, my dear lady, even Venice can become un- 
 interesting and dry, paradoxical as it may sound," 
 Barnard returned, airily. "My proposal," he ex- 
 plained, "is that I should make Frances Hope and 
 Mrs. Milbanke known to each other. Don't you 
 think the idea brilliant?" 
 
 "Quite! Quite!" Serracauld looked up interest- 
 edly. "You are a man of ideas, Barny!" 
 
 Lord Deerehurst said nothing, but again his eye- 
 glass gleamed in the uncertain light. 
 
 200
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "What is Lady Frances Hope like?" Clodagh 
 asked, suddenly withdrawing her gaze from the 
 massed gondolas that swayed in the musicians' lan- 
 tern-light. 
 
 "Like?" Serracauld repeated, vaguely. "How 
 would you describe her, uncle? The sort of woman 
 who does everything twice as well as anybody else — 
 and at half the cost — eh?" 
 
 Lord Deerehurst gave one of his thin, metallic 
 laughs. 
 
 "I always think," he said, slowly, "that if Lady 
 Frances Hope had been the child of a milkman instead 
 of a marquis, she would have made a singularly suc- 
 cessful adventuress. No reflections cast upon the 
 late Sammy, my dear Barnard!" 
 
 He waved his white hand, and the dim, uncertain 
 light gleamed on a magnificent diamond ring. 
 
 Barnard laughed with a tolerant air. 
 
 "Rather an apt deduction," he admitted. "I am 
 inclined to agree with you. Frances is just one of 
 those shrewd, plain-looking, attractive women who 
 enjoy climbing steep ladders. It is rather a pity she 
 was born on the top rung. But I believe we have 
 frightened Mrs. Milbanke!" 
 
 He turned suddenly and caught Clodagh's ex- 
 pression as she sat forward listening intently. 
 
 At the mention of her name she laughed quickly, 
 and leaned back against the cushions of her seat. 
 
 "What do you mean?" she asked, with a touch of 
 constraint. "Am I as childish as all that?" 
 
 They all three looked at her. and Barnard gave 
 an amused laugh. 
 
 "Come!" he cried, banteringly. "There's no use 
 telling me vou weren't just a little shocked." 
 
 "Shocked?" 
 
 20I
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Yes, shocked." He nodded his head once or 
 twice in genial gayety. "There's no denying that 
 the word ' adventuress ' has a daunting sound. There 
 was a danger-signal in the very thought of a lady 
 who might^ — under any conditions — have been no- 
 torious. Come now, confess!" 
 
 Clodagh looked from his amused, quizzical eyes to 
 Serracauld's satirical, laughing ones, and a shadow 
 of uncertainty — of doubt — -crossed her own bright 
 face. There was an element in this social atmos- 
 phere that she did not quite understand. 
 
 "Indeed — " she began, hotly. 
 
 But Serracauld, whose glance had never left her 
 own, bent forward quickly, looking up into her 
 face. 
 
 "I say, Mrs. Milbanke," he cried, "let's refute the 
 insinuation of this old inquisitor! Let's waive cere- 
 mony and storm Lady Frances Hope in her citadel! 
 She is always at home at this hour of night." 
 
 Clodagh looked up. 
 
 "To-night?" she said. "Oh, but how could I? I 
 don't know her." 
 
 Serracauld laughed. 
 
 "Oh, as for that, we're abroad, not in England. 
 The greatest stickler for etiquette allows that there's 
 a difference in the two conditions." 
 
 "But I couldn't. How could I?" Her eyes 
 sought Barnard's. 
 
 "Oh yes!" he cried. "I knew it! I knew it! 
 We have frightened you off!" 
 
 She flushed uncomfortably. 
 
 "It isn't that!" she cried, in distress. "You know 
 it isn't that!" Involuntarily she turned to Lord 
 Deerehurst; but in the dim light she detected a smile 
 on his pale, cold face. 
 
 202
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 With a sudden change of emotion, self-rehance came 
 to her. 
 
 "Where does Lady Frances Hope live?" she asked, 
 in a careless voice. 
 
 Barnard was studying her intently, 
 
 "She has apartments in the Palazzo Ugochini," he 
 said. "Quite close at hand." 
 
 For a moment Clodagh looked fixedly in front of 
 her; then her lips closed suddenly and she turned 
 her head. 
 
 "Very well," she said, shortly. "Take me to the 
 Palazzo Ugochini — just to prove that you were 
 wrong."
 
 XXI 
 
 THE decision was no sooner made than it was 
 carried into execution. The order was given 
 to the gondoliers, and instantly the long, dark gondola 
 swung round, disengaging itself from the tangle of 
 surrounding craft, and headed for the quieter spaces 
 of the middle stream. 
 
 The Palazzo Ugochini was on the Grand Canal; and 
 as they glided westward, past the beautiful church of 
 Santa Maria della Salute, Barnard leaned forward and 
 directed her attention to their destination. 
 
 "There is the palace of the Ugochini," he said. 
 "It contains some of the finest frescoes in Italy. 
 It was bought up some years ago by an enterprising 
 Frenchman, who lets it out in sections. Just now 
 Lady Frances Hope is the proud occupier of the 
 first floor." 
 
 With a movement of interest she followed his 
 glance, looking silently at the long line of irregular, 
 imposing buildings that stretched away before her. 
 
 "What a beautiful old place!" she said. "Are 
 those your friend's windows?" 
 
 She indicated the first floor of the palace, from 
 the open windows of which a warm stream of light 
 poured downward upon the water. 
 
 "Yes. I expect they're playing bridge up there. 
 Frances is an enthusiast. By-the-way, do you gam- 
 ble, Mrs. Milbanke?" 
 
 204
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Involuntarily Clodagh started and looked round; 
 then, as she met Barnard's bland, amiable face, she 
 blushed at her own emotions. 
 
 "Oh no," she said, in a low voice. "I — I never 
 play cards." 
 
 Serracauld looked up quickly. 
 
 " What!" he exclaimed. " You don't play bridge ?" 
 
 "I have never played any game of cards since I 
 was a child." 
 
 The three men looked at her in unfeigned surprise. 
 
 "Not really, Mrs. Milbanke?" 
 
 Scrracauld's eyes were wide with astonishment. 
 
 "Really! Quite really!" 
 
 She smiled as she made the statement. 
 
 "Why, you are ethereal, Mrs. Milbanke," Barnard 
 said, laughingly, as the gondola glided up to the 
 palace steps. "The passport to humanity nowadays 
 is an inordinate love of risk." 
 
 Clodagh laughed nervously. 
 
 "Then I must be inhuman," she said. 
 
 The gondola stopped, and Lord Deerehurst rose. 
 As he offered her his hand he looked searchingly into 
 her face. 
 
 "Only time can prove the truth of that statement, 
 Mrs. Milbanke," he said, in his high, thin voice. 
 
 In the myster^^ of her surroundings the words 
 seemed to Clodagh to possess a curious, almost a 
 prophetic ring, and their echo lingered in her ears as 
 she stepped from the gondola and entered the palace. 
 But she was young, and to the young, action must 
 ever outweigh suggestion. She had scarcely mounted 
 the old marble staircase before the excitement of 
 her impending ordeal sent all other ideas spinning 
 into oblivion. There was adventure and experience 
 in every succeeding moment. 
 
 205
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 At the head of the stairs they were met- by an 
 Enghsh man-servant. He stepped forward gravely, 
 as if accustomed to the arrival of late callers, and, 
 relieving Clodagh of her cloak, ushered her down a 
 long corridor and through an arched doorway hidden 
 by a velvet curtain. 
 
 The salon into which they were shown was large 
 and high-ceiled. The walls displayed some allegorical 
 studies in the fresco work of which Barnard had spo- 
 ken; the floor was bare of carpet and highly poUshed, 
 reflecting the elaborately designed but scanty furni- 
 ture and the wonderful glass chandeliers that hung 
 from the ceiling; and in the three long windows that 
 opened on the canal stood groups of statuary. 
 
 During the moment that followed their entrance, 
 Clodagh almost believed that the room was unoccu- 
 pied, so wide and formal did it look; but a second 
 glance convinced her of her mistake. At its farther 
 end four persons were playing cards at a small table, 
 partly sheltered from the rest of the room by a 
 massive leather screen. 
 
 When their names were announced no one at the 
 table moved or even looked round ; but immediately 
 afterwards there was a stir among the players, and 
 the light sound of cards thrown hastily down, fol- 
 lowed by a quick laugh in a woman's voice. 
 
 "Game— and rubber! Well done, partner! How 
 does the score stand, Tory?" 
 
 The owner of the laugh rose from her seat and 
 almost instantly turned to the door, revealing to 
 Clodagh's curious eyes a strong, energetic, face, re- 
 deemed from ughness by a pair of intensely intelH- 
 gent eyes and a mouth that displayed strong white 
 teeth. It was the somewhat disconcerting face of a 
 clever woman to whom life represents an undeniable 
 
 206
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 — if an invigorating — struggle. Seeing the little group 
 by the doorway, she hurried forward with an almost 
 masculine assurance. 
 
 "You poor, dear people!" she exclaimed, in her 
 strong voice. "A thousand apologies! We were on 
 the point of finishing a most exciting rubber — " Her 
 voice broke off short as her eyes rested on Clodagh. 
 
 "Who is this, Barny ?" she asked, interestedly. 
 
 Barnard stepped forward, laying his hand smilingly 
 on Clodagh's arm, 
 
 "This, my dear Frances," he said, "is a new friend 
 that I want you to make. The wife of an old friend 
 of mine. You may have met her husband — Mr. Mil- 
 banke — one of the Somerset Milbankcs. Poor Sammy 
 knew him well." 
 
 Lady Frances Hope puckered her strong, assertive 
 eyebrows. 
 
 "I believe I do remember meeting a Mr. Milbanke; 
 but I scarcely think — " She looked scrutinizingly 
 at Clodagh. 
 
 "Oh yes, it's the same! It's the same!" Bar- 
 nard's interruption was somewhat hasty. "Mr. Mil- 
 banke is a great archaeologist. He and Mrs. Mil- 
 banke are only in Venice for a week. I had intended 
 bringing you to call formally at their hotel, but cir- 
 cumstances — " 
 
 Here Clodagh broke in. 
 
 "You must please, please forgive my doing such 
 a very extraordinary thing as this," she said. "It 
 was all Mr. Barnard's fault — " 
 
 But Lady Frances Hope cut the explanation 
 short by holding out her hand. 
 
 "You are extremely welcome," she said, cordially. 
 "And if the truth must be told, 1 owe you a debt of 
 gratitude for saving me an afternoon call. It's a 
 
 207
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 hundred times pleasanter to meet like this. Now, 
 let me see! You play bridge, of course. We can 
 make up another four." 
 
 She glanced over her guests with an organizing 
 eye. 
 
 Clodagh stepped forward deprecatingly and cast a 
 beseeching look at Barnard. But in the slight pause 
 that followed it was Lord Deerehurst who came to 
 her rescue. 
 
 "Mrs. Milbanke has just been confessing to us 
 that she never plays cards," he said, smoothly. "If 
 you will go on with your game, Lady Frances, I shall 
 do my best to amuse her." 
 
 He turned his unemotional glance from one to the 
 other. 
 
 The surprise that his announcement had brought 
 to their hostess's face changed instantly to an ex- 
 pression of hospitality. 
 
 "No! No, indeed!" she cried. "I would infi- 
 nitely prefer to talk to Mrs. Milbanke. Come!" she 
 added, smiling at Clodagh. "Come and let me in- 
 troduce you to these bridge-playing people. Per- 
 haps they will convert you." 
 
 She laughed, and, followed by the four, moved 
 across the salon. 
 
 At their approach the three at the card - table — 
 two women and a man — turned to look at them, and 
 the latter, a square-built, thick-set youth, wearing 
 a pince-nez and possessing a quick, inquisitive man- 
 ner, rose to his feet. 
 
 "Mrs. Milbanke," said Lady Frances, "this is Mr. 
 Victor Luard; Miss Luard ; Mrs. Bathurst." 
 
 Luard bowed, and the two women looked at Clo- 
 dagh, each acknowledging the introduction after her 
 own fashion. Miss Luard gave a quick, friendly nod; 
 
 208
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Mrs. Bathurst a slow and graceful inclination of the 
 head, accompanied by a faint, insincere smile. 
 
 "Are you a bridge-player?" she asked, raising a 
 pair of pretty, languid brown eyes to Clodagh's. "I 
 wish so much you would take my place. I've been 
 having the most appalling luck." 
 
 Her glance wandered on to Serracauld, Barnard, 
 and Deerehurst. 
 
 "Ah, here is Lord Deerehurst!" she cried, in a 
 suddenly animated voice. "Lord Deerehurst, do 
 come and tell me what you would have done with a 
 hand like this?" 
 
 She picked up her scattered cards and began to 
 sort them; then, with a graceful movement, she drew 
 her skirts aside, and indicated a vacant chair that 
 stood beside her own. 
 
 Lord Deerehurst hesitated, lifted his eye-glass, and 
 scrutinized her pretty pink-and-white face, then lan- 
 guidly dropped into the empty chair. At the same 
 moment Clodagh, Serracauld, Luard, and his sister 
 fell into conversation, and Lady Frances and Bar- 
 nard moved away together towards one of the open 
 windows. 
 
 For a quarter of an hour the formation of the party 
 remained the same; then a slight incident caused a 
 distraction in the assembly. Clodagh, who had 
 shaken off her first shyness and was beginning to 
 enjoy the conversation of her new acquaintance, 
 heard the curtain at the arched entrance drawn 
 back, and, looking round, was surprised to see two 
 servants enter, solemnly carrying a table and a 
 painted board which they proceeded to set up in the 
 middle of the room. 
 
 Her wonder and curiosity were depicted on her 
 face, for Luard looked at her quickly and interestedly. 
 14 209
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 " Don't you know what that is, Mrs. Milbanke ?" he 
 asked. "Hasn't Barny told you of Lady Frances's 
 famous roulette ? Lady Frances!" he called. " Come 
 and initiate Mrs. Milbanke." 
 
 At the words every one turned and looked at 
 Clodagh. And Lord Deerehurst, with a murmured 
 word to Mrs. Bathurst, rose and came round the 
 card-table. 
 
 "Are you going to tempt the gods?" he asked, in 
 his peculiar voice. 
 
 Clodagh looked round, a little embarrassed by the 
 general interest. 
 
 "Well, I — I suppose I should like to see roulette 
 played," she admitted, guardedly. 
 
 He bent his head and looked at her with his cold, 
 penetrating smile. 
 
 "Ah, I seel" he said, softly. "Judicious reserva- 
 tions!" 
 
 But at that moment Lady Frances crossed the 
 room, and, pausing by the roulette-table, set the ball 
 spinning. 
 
 "Come along, people!" she cried, gayly. "Fort- 
 une smiles." 
 
 They all laughed and strolled across the room. 
 
 "Come along!" Lady Frances urged again. "Come, 
 Rose!" She smiled at Mrs. Bathurst. "Unlucky at 
 bridge, lucky at roulette. Come, Tory! Come,Val!" 
 
 She glanced from Luard to Serracauld. 
 
 There was another amused laugh, and all the party 
 with the exception of Clodagh stepped forward and 
 placed one or many coins upon the table. 
 
 Lady Frances's eyes were quick to detect the ex- 
 ception. With her fingers poised above the board, 
 she waited smilingly. 
 
 "Won't you stake, Mrs. Milbanke?" she asked. 
 
 210
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Clodagh blushed, and stepped back shyly. At the 
 same instant Serracauld moved forward to her side. 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Milbanke, but you must!" he cried. 
 
 Again confusion covered Clodagh, as all eyes were 
 turned upon her. 
 
 "No, please!" she said. "I — I think I'd rather 
 not." 
 
 Barnard laughed suavely. 
 
 "Mrs. Milbanke is wise," he said. "She wants to 
 see which way the gods are pointing." 
 
 "Then Mrs. Milbanke is unwise. The gods are 
 jealous beings; we must not treat them with sus- 
 picion. I'll stake for her." 
 
 It was Lord Deerehurst who spoke. And regard- 
 less of Clodagh's quick, half - frightened expostula- 
 tion, he stepped forward out of the little circle and 
 placed a gold coin on the number thirteen. A mo- 
 ment later Lady Frances gave a short, amused laugh, 
 and with a dexterous movement of the fingers set 
 the ball whizzing. 
 
 To Clodagh it was a supreme — an extraordinary 
 — moment. Until Lord Deerehurst had made the 
 stake — until the first click of the spinning ball had 
 struck upon her ear — she had been conscious of only 
 one feeling: a prejudiced, innate dread of every 
 game — whether of chance or skill — upon which 
 money could be staked; but the simple placing of 
 the coin, the simple turning of the pivot had marked 
 for her a psychological epoch. From that moment 
 her feelings changed. With a quick catching of the 
 breath, she stepped involuntarily forward, aware of 
 but one fact — the keen, exhilarating knowledge that 
 the stopping of the ball must mean loss or gain — in- 
 dividual loss or gain. 
 
 During the dozen seconds that it spun round the 
 
 211
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 circle she stood transfixed; then a faint sound of 
 uncontrollable excitement slipped from between her 
 lips. Hers was the winning number! 
 
 As in a dream, she extended her hand, and took 
 the little heap of money from the fingers of Luard, 
 who had come to Lady Frances's assistance; then, on 
 the instant that the coins touched her palm, her ex- 
 citement evaporated, her sense of elation fell away, 
 to be succeeded by the first instinctive shrinking that 
 had swayed her imagination. 
 
 Acting purely upon impulse, she turned to Lord 
 Deerehurst. and, before hie could remonstrate, pressed 
 the money into his hand. 
 
 "Please take it!" she said, urgently. " Please take 
 it ! It isn't mine. It oughtn't to be mine. I — I don't 
 wish to play."
 
 XXII 
 
 THE little incident, trivial in itself, damped the 
 general ardor for roulette. After a dozen turns 
 of the wheel, Lady Frances declared herself satisfied. 
 
 "Mrs. Milbanke has regenerated us — for the mo- 
 ment!" she cried. "I can't play roulette to-night. 
 But our turn will come, Mrs. Milbanke. We will be 
 revenged on you." 
 
 Her shrewd, smiling glance passed rapidly over 
 Clodagh's face. 
 
 Again the whole company laughed. 
 
 "Mrs. Milbanke is a feminine Sir Galahad," said 
 Luard. " By-the-way, Lady Frances, when i^ jur irre- 
 proachable knight to honor Venice with his presence ?" 
 
 He turned and looked banteringly at his hostess. 
 
 Lady Frances smiled. 
 
 "Oh, any day now," she returned. "But ain't 
 you rather incorrigible?" 
 
 "So Sir Galahad thinks," he retorted, unabashed. 
 "Is he an acquaintance of yours, Mrs. Milbanke?" 
 
 Clodagh smiled uncertainly, and Lady Frances 
 laughed. 
 
 " How ridiculous of you to expect Mrs. Milbanke 
 to read your riddles!" she said, sharply. "The per- 
 son this very disrespectful young man is speaking of, 
 Mrs. Milbanke, is Sir Walter Gore — " 
 
 "The most admirable Sir Walter Gore!" inter- 
 jected Luard. 
 
 213
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Lady Frances's sallow face flushed very slightly. 
 
 "Sir Walter Gore," she went on, ignoring the in- 
 terruption, "who is only twenty-nine — has been ten 
 times round the world — and is imbued with the 
 deepest contempt for all modem social things." 
 
 She laughed again as she finished; but a fleeting 
 change of expression had passed over her strong 
 face. 
 
 Clodagh looked up smilingly. 
 
 "And where is the likeness to me?" she asked. 
 
 "Oh, you are both above mere human temptations, 
 Mrs. Milbanke," Luard broke in, irrepressibly. 
 
 Lord Deerehurst, who had been listening to the 
 conversation, lifted his eye-glass. 
 
 "But then Sir Walter Gore has been ten times 
 round the world," he remarked, in his thin, dry 
 voice. "And this is Mrs. Milbanke's first visit to 
 Venice." 
 
 Again they all laughed, and Clodagh colored. 
 
 "You think my stoicism would not wear well?" 
 she asked. 
 
 Deerehurst looked at her searchingly. 
 
 "Stoicism may be born of many characteristics," 
 he said. "I am not in a position to say from what 
 yours springs. But" — he lowered his voice — "I do 
 not think you are a natural stoic." 
 
 She laughed and glanced uneasily round the little 
 company, already beginning to break up into groups 
 of two and three. 
 
 Observing the look, Lady Frances turned to her 
 tactfully. 
 
 "Come, Lord Deerehurst!" she cried. "We are 
 getting too serious. If you must philosophize, take 
 Mrs. Milbanke on to the balcony, where she will 
 have something to distract her thoughts. For my- 
 
 214
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 self, I want to hear Valentine sin^'. Val!" she called. 
 "Come to the piano and make some music. I'm 
 surfeited with stringed instruments and Italian 
 voices." 
 
 She moved across the salon, and Lord Decrehurst 
 turned to Clodagh. 
 
 "May I follow our hostess's suggestion? May I 
 talk philosophy on the balcony?" 
 
 She smiled. The slight strain, of which she had 
 been conscious ever since the incident of the roulette, 
 lifted suddenly and her earlier sensation of elated 
 excitement returned. 
 
 "Yes, if you like," she responded, brightly. "The 
 balcony sounds very tempting. And as for your 
 philosophy, I can promise to listen — if I can't prom- 
 ise to understand." 
 
 She smiled afresh, and crossed the wide room, 
 Decrehurst following closely. 
 
 As she passed the group of statuary and stepped 
 through the open window, Serracauld struck a chord 
 or two on the piano, and an instant later his voice — 
 a full, strong voice, intensely passionate and youthful 
 — drifted across the salon and out into the night. 
 
 At the first note Clodagh halted, surprised and 
 enchanted by the sound, and, sinking silently into 
 one of the balcony chairs, rested one arm on the iron 
 railing. 
 
 The music Serracauld sang was French, and pos- 
 sessed much of the distinction that marks that na- 
 tion's art. The song was a hymn to life — and its in- 
 dispensable coadjutors youth and love; and it went 
 with a peculiar lilt that stirred the blood and stim- 
 ulated the fancy. He sang it as it should be sung — 
 easily and arrogantly; for, as frequently happens 
 with musicians, he could express in music thoughts, 
 
 215
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 ideas, and emotions that never crossed his own selfish, 
 somewhat narrow soul. 
 
 Clodagh, staring down into the dark waters in an 
 attitude of rapt attention, drank in the song to its 
 last note, and, as the final vibration died away, she 
 looked round at Deerehurst with an expression in- 
 finitely softened and enhanced. 
 
 "How beautiful!" she said. "Oh, how beauti- 
 ful!" 
 
 Without replying he sank into a chair that stood 
 close to hers, and in his turn laid his arms upon the 
 balcony railing. 
 
 "It is not the song that is beautiful, Mrs. Mil- 
 banke," he said at last, "but the thoughts it has 
 awakened in you." 
 
 Clodagh looked at him in silent question. She 
 was still under the spell of the music, and saw nothing 
 to fear in his cold gaze. 
 
 "You were the instrument," he went on, in the 
 same lowered voice. "The notes were not played 
 upon the piano, but upon your brain. Your brain is 
 a net-work of sensitive strings, waiting to be played 
 on by every factor in life — music, color, sunshine, 
 emotion — " His tone sank. 
 
 Clodagh glanced quickly at his tall, thin figure 
 seated so close to her own, and at the waxlike, in- 
 scrutable face showing through the dusk. 
 
 "You seem to know me better than I know my- 
 self," she said, uncertainly. 
 
 He watched her intently for a moment; then he 
 leaned forward, his long, pale fingers toying with the 
 ribbon of his eye-glass. 
 
 "I do know you better than 5^ou know yourself." 
 
 She gave a little, embarrassed laugh. 
 
 "Then enlighten me." 
 
 216
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Again ho seemed to study her; then he leaned back 
 in his chair with a decisive movement. 
 
 "No," he said. "No. Not now. In a year — or 
 two — or even three, perhaps. But not now." 
 
 She laughed again, and unconsciously a note of 
 relief underran her laugh— a relief that, by a natural 
 sequence of emotion, brought a fresh reaction to 
 the coquetry of an hour ago. 
 
 With a quick turn of the head she looked up at 
 him. 
 
 "But how shall I find you in a year — or two — or 
 three?" 
 
 She was distinctly conscious that the words held 
 a challenge; but the thought was fraught with the 
 new intoxication that the evening had begotten. 
 
 With a swift movement he bent close to her. 
 
 "The world is very small, Mrs. Milbanke — when 
 one desires to make it so." 
 
 In the half - light of the balcony his pale eyes 
 seemed to search hers. 
 
 Involuntarily she blushed, but her glance met his 
 steadily enough. 
 
 "Not until one has been ten times round it," 
 she reminded him. 
 
 He laughed his thin, amused laugh; then suddenly 
 he became grave again. 
 
 "Don't you feel," he said, "that when we desire a 
 thing very greatly, our own will power may bend 
 circumstances ?" 
 
 Her eyes faltered, and her gaze moved to the gon- 
 dolas flitting silently below them. 
 
 " I think I have given up desiring things greatly," 
 she said, in a low, uneven voice. 
 
 Deerehurst's eyelids narrowed. 
 
 "Would it be presumptuous to ask why?" 
 
 217
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "No. Oh no!" 
 
 " But you will not throw light upon my darkness?" 
 
 She turned her head, and once more her gaze rested 
 on his face. 
 
 "No," she said, softly, "it isn't that. It is that I 
 don't believe I could enlighten you — even if I would. 
 I am a puzzle to myself." 
 
 "The deeper a riddle, the more tempting its solu- 
 tion." 
 
 Very quietly he drew still nearer, until his foot 
 touched the hem of her skirt. 
 
 The action, more than the words, startled her. 
 With a little laugh she drew back into her seat. 
 
 "Perhaps it is no riddle, after all," she said, quick- 
 ly. "Perhaps it is the lack of human nature — the 
 likeness to Mr. Luard's 'Sir Galahad.'" 
 
 She laughed again , nervously . Then suddenly her 
 own words suggested to her a new and less dangerous 
 channel of talk. 
 
 "When is this wonderful person to be in Venice?" 
 she asked. "I am curious to see him." 
 
 But Lord Deerehurst had no intention of allowing 
 another man's name to interfere with his pleasure. 
 
 "Mrs. Milbanke," he said, earnestly, "may I ask 
 you another question — a serious one?" 
 
 "Not till you've answered mine." 
 
 "But this is personal — personal to you and me. 
 The other is not." 
 
 He bent over her chair, and, seemingly by acci- 
 dent, his hand brushed her sleeve. 
 
 "Mrs. Milbanke—" 
 
 But even as his thin voice articulated her name a 
 shadow fell across the lighted window behind them, 
 and Serracauld, characteristically easy and non- 
 chalant in his movements, stepped on to the balcony. 
 
 218
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Clodagh turned with a short, faint laugh. The 
 beating of her heart was uneven, and her face felt 
 hot. 
 
 "Mr. Serracauld," she said, impulsively, "when is 
 Sir Walter Gore coming to Venice ? I have been 
 asking Lord Deerehurst, but he cannot — or will not 
 —tell me." 
 
 Deerehurst, who at his nephew's approach had 
 drawn quietly back into his seat, looked up with 
 perfect composure. 
 
 "Yes, Valentine," he said, smoothly, "I believe 
 Gore has been making an impression by proxy." 
 
 Serracauld laughed. 
 
 "Really!" he said. "How interesting! I shall 
 look forward to the meeting in the flesh." 
 
 Again he laughed, as at something intensely amus- 
 ing. And as Clodagh turned towards him doubt- 
 fully, she saw him shoot one swift, satirical glance at 
 his uncle. 
 
 "Why?" she asked, quickly. "Why should our 
 meeting be interesting?" 
 
 Once more a vague sense of antagonism assailed 
 her — a vague distrust of this new atmosphere. 
 
 Serracauld answered her at once in his light, in- 
 gratiating tone. 
 
 "For no reason, Mrs. Milbanke, that you can possi- 
 bly cavil at." 
 
 "But for what reason?" Her glance rested in- 
 quiringly on his face. "Do tell me. I hate things 
 that I cannot understand." 
 
 Deerehurst smiled a little cynically. 
 
 "A very youthful sentiment," he murmured. 
 "The older one grows, the more one seeks the in- 
 comprehensible." 
 
 His eyes rested upon her with a fixed regard. 
 
 219
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 For a space she sat very still, attempting no re- 
 joinder. Then, as if suddenly moved to decisive ac- 
 tion, she rose and turned towards the lighted salon. 
 
 "It's very late," she said, quickly. "I must think 
 about getting home." 
 
 Serracauld stepped aside, and Deerehurst, who 
 had risen with her, moved forward. 
 
 But with a swift gesture that ignored them both, 
 she crossed the balcony and stepped through the 
 open window. 
 
 After she had left them the two men stood for a 
 moment looking at each other; then, with an elab- 
 orately careless gesture, Lord Deerehurst raised his 
 eye-glass and peered out across the dark canal. 
 
 "Rather a pleasant little gathering to-night," he 
 said, casually. "Rose Bathurst looks particularly 
 well. Don't you think so?" 
 
 Serracauld's lips parted, then pursed themselves 
 together, while he cast one comprehensive glance at 
 his uncle's stiff back. 
 
 "Oh yes. Yes. Quite," he rejoined, vaguely ; then 
 very swiftly he turned and hurried across the salon 
 after Clodagh. 
 
 She was bidding her hostess good - night as he 
 reached her side, and his attentive glance noted her 
 heightened color and her nervously alert manner. 
 
 "To-morrow night, then," Lady Frances was say- 
 ing, and he saw Clodagh nod and smile. 
 
 "To-morrow night," she repeated. "Mr. Bar- 
 nard, are you ready?" 
 
 As she looked round for her cavalier, Serracauld 
 stepped softly to her side. 
 
 "Mrs. Milbanke," he said, "you will not discard 
 my uncle's gondola? He is waiting to know if we 
 may convey you home." 
 
 220
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 She looked up at him with a faint suggestion of 
 coldness and distrust. Then, across the silence of 
 her indecision, the low, thrilling notes of the Venetian 
 night music broke forth again, as the musicians' gon- 
 dola passed the Palazzo Ugochini on its way home- 
 ward. Astonishingly near in its poignant sweetness, 
 it seemed to literally sweep across the salon through 
 the open windows. At the sound her face involun- 
 tarily softened, her lips parted, and she smiled. 
 
 "Very well," she acquiesced, below her breath 
 "Tell Lord Deerehurst that he may take me home."
 
 XXIII 
 
 DURING the night that followed, Clodagh's ex- 
 cited thoughts scarcely permitted her any sleep; 
 but with that extraordinary reserve of strength that 
 springs from the combination of youth and health, 
 she rose next morning as fresh and untired as though 
 she had enjoyed unbroken rest. 
 
 Coming down-stairs at half-past eight, the first 
 person she encountered was Milbanke entering the 
 hotel from the terrace; and spurred by her own 
 exuberant spirits, roused to a sense of general good- 
 will by her own rosy outlook upon life, she went 
 quickly forward to greet him. 
 
 "Good -morning, James," she said. "I hope you 
 haven't been tiring yourself?" 
 
 It struck her as an after impression that he looked 
 slightly worn and fatigued. 
 
 As he took her hand he smiled, gratified by her 
 concern. 
 
 " Not at all, my dear," he responded. "Not at all. 
 I have had an hour's excursion with Mr. Tomes. I 
 assure you I had no idea that the byways of Venice 
 were so interesting. No idea whatever!" 
 
 "All Venice is heavenly." 
 
 Clodagh's glance wandered across the terrace to 
 the canal, radiant in the early light. 
 
 Milbanke raised his head, arrested by the fervor 
 of her tone. 
 
 222
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Then you — you enjoyed yourself last night?" he 
 ventured, with unusual penetration. 
 
 "Oh, so much!" She turned to him with a glow- 
 ing smile that betrayed a warm desire for universal 
 confidence and sympathy. "So much! Mr. Bar- 
 nard and the tall, dark-haired boy that you met last 
 evening took me all round the canals in the most 
 beautiful gondola belonging to Lord Deerehurst. 
 We saw all the interesting people from the hotels 
 and heard the music, and afterwards Mr. Barnard 
 brought me to the Palazzo Ugochini and introduced 
 me to Lady Frances Hope. She was charmingly 
 kind and hospitable, and made me promise to go 
 again to-night — and to bring you." 
 
 Milbanke's face fell. 
 
 " But, my dear — " he began, deprecatingly. 
 
 "Oh, you must come! You must! Lady Frances 
 Hope feels sure she has met you before. You must 
 come!" 
 
 Milbanke looked distressed. 
 
 "But, my dear—" 
 
 "Yes, I know you hate society. But just this 
 once — I — I wish you to come — " 
 
 She made the appeal with a sudden anxious gesture, 
 bom of a very subtle, a very instinctive motive — a 
 motive that had for its basis an obscure and quite 
 unacknowledged sense of self-protection. 
 
 Milbanke — materialist born — heard only the words, 
 noting nothing of the undermeaning. 
 
 "But, my dear," he expostulated, "the thing is — 
 is impossible. Mr. Angelo Tomes has promised to 
 expound his theories to me after dinner to-night — " 
 
 He looked at her nervouslv. 
 
 She was silent for a minute or two — suddenly and 
 profoundly conscious that, in all the radiant glory of 
 
 223
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 her surroundings, she stood alone. At the painful 
 consciousness she felt her throat swell, but, with a 
 defiant refusal to be conquered by her feelings, she 
 gave a quick, high laugh. 
 
 "Oh, very well!" she cried. "Very well! As 
 you like!" 
 
 And without looking at him again she turned and 
 entered the coffee-room of the hotel. 
 
 Having partaken of her morning meal with a haste 
 that betokened unruly emotions, she returned to 
 the terrace, where — among the other early loungers — 
 she found Barnard reading his English newspapers. 
 Seeing her, he threw the papers down, jumped to his 
 feet, and came forward with evident pleasure. 
 
 "Good-morning," he said, cordially. "Good-morn- 
 ing. You look as fresh as a flower after last night's 
 dissipation." 
 
 She took his hand and met his suave smile with a 
 sense of relief. 
 
 "Good-morning," she returned, softly. " Have you 
 seen James? He breakfasted hours ago." 
 
 "Yes," he said. "Oh yes! I was talking to him 
 just now. He has gone to write letters." 
 
 "To write letters!" 
 
 There was no curiosity and very little interest 
 audible in Clodagh's tone. 
 
 "So he said. And you! What are you going to 
 do?" 
 
 She looked up and smiled again. 
 
 "To idle," she said. "I have a hereditary gift 
 for idling." 
 
 Barnard smiled, then glanced along the terrace 
 with an air of pretended secrecy. 
 
 "Take me into partnership!" he said, in a whisper. 
 "My clients don't know it, but I'm constitutionally 
 
 224
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 the laziest beggar alive. Do let me idle in your com- 
 pany for half an hour? The canals arc dclighlful in 
 the early morning — " 
 
 He indicated the flight of stone steps round which 
 one or two gondolas were hovering in expectation of 
 a fare. 
 
 Clodagh's glance followed his, and her face in- 
 sensibly brightened. 
 
 "I should love it," she said. 
 
 "Truly?" 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 "Right! Then the thing is done." 
 
 He hurried forward. And with a little thrill of 
 pleasurable anticipation, Clodagh saw one of the 
 loitering gondolas glide up to the steps. 
 
 For the first few moments after they had entered 
 the boat she was silent, for in the iridescent morning 
 light Venice made a new appeal; then gradually — 
 insidiously — as the charm of her surroundings began 
 to soothe her senses, the encounter with Milbanke 
 melted from her mind, and the subtle environment 
 bred of last night's adulation rose again, turning the 
 world golden. 
 
 As they passed the Palazzo Ugochini she looked 
 up at the closed windows of the first floor; then al- 
 most immediately she turned to her companion. 
 
 "Mr. Barnard," she said, suddenly. "I want to 
 ask you a question. I want you to explain some- 
 thing. 
 
 And Barnard, closely studious of her demeanor, 
 felt insensibly that her mood had changed — that, by 
 a fine connection of suggestions, she was not the 
 same being who had stepped into the gondola from 
 the hotel steps. With a genial movement he bent 
 his head. 
 
 IS 225
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Command me," he said. 
 
 Before replying, she took another swift glance at 
 the closed windows; then she turned again and met 
 his eyes. 
 
 "Tell me why Sir Walter Gore is called 'Sir Gala- 
 had.'" 
 
 He smiled. 
 
 "Gore?" he said, with slightly amused surprise. 
 "I didn't know you were interested in Gore." 
 
 " I am not. But please tell me. I want to know." 
 
 His smile broadened. 
 
 "The nickname surely explains itself." 
 
 "Somebody with an ideal? Somebody above 
 temptation ?" 
 
 "Precisely." 
 
 She pondered over this reply for a moment, then 
 she opened a fresh attack. 
 
 "Then why should Lord Deerehurst and Mr. Ser- 
 racauld have smiled when they spoke of his meeting 
 me?" 
 
 Barnard looked up in unfeigned astonishment, then 
 he laughed. 
 
 "Upon my word, Mrs. Milbanke," he cried, "you 
 are absolutely unique!" 
 
 Clodagh flushed. For one second she wavered on 
 the borderland of deep offence; then her mood — her 
 sense of the ridiculous and the sunny atmosphere of 
 the morning — conquered. She responded with a clear, 
 ringing laugh. 
 
 "I suppose I'm not like other people," she said. 
 
 "For which you should say grace every hour of 
 your life." Barnard turned and looked into her glow- 
 ing face. "But I'll satisfy your curiosity. Gore is 
 known in his own set as a man who obstinately — 
 and against all reason — refuses to believe in — well, 
 
 226
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 for instance, in the interesting young married wom- 
 an." 
 
 Clodagh's lips parted. 
 
 "But what — " she began, impetuously; then she 
 stopped. 
 
 Barnard continued to look at her. 
 
 "Isn't the inference of the simile somewhat ob- 
 vious?" 
 
 Her glance fell. 
 
 "Oh!" she said. "Oh, I suppose — I suppose I see." 
 
 "Precisely." 
 
 "But surely — " she began afresh; then again in- 
 tuition interfered, though this time to a different 
 end. It was not the moment — it was not the atmos- 
 phere — in which to parade one's sentiments. With 
 the too ready facility of her countrymen to adapt 
 themselves to environment, she laughed suddenly and 
 gayly at her own passing prudery, and raised a bright 
 face to Barnard's. 
 
 "And when he meets these interesting young 
 married women ?" she asked. 
 
 "Ah, there he dubs himself 'Sir Galahad.' He 
 is never discourteous to exacting sirens — never bored 
 — never unfriendly. He simply declines to be af- 
 fected by their singing. Some people call him a 
 saint for keeping his eyes on the ground; others call 
 him a sinner for not picking up what he sees there. 
 In reality, he is neither sinner nor saint, but just that 
 enviable creation — a man who is self-sufficing." 
 
 While he spoke, and for some time after he had 
 ceased to speak, Clodagh sat silent. She was leaning 
 over the side of the gondola and looking down into 
 the calm water, her warm face set into a strange ex- 
 pression , her hazel eyes half closed. At last she spoke, 
 but without raising her head. 
 
 227
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "And you are all waiting for the person who will 
 make him see the need for some one else?" 
 
 She waited for Barnard's answer, but it did not 
 come. Sensitive to the silence, she raised her head. 
 Then her self-consciousness left her, superseded by 
 curiosity. As she looked up she saw her companion 
 lean forward and wave a cheerful greeting to the oc- 
 cupant of a gondola approaching them from the 
 direction of the railway station. Involuntarily she 
 changed her position, and her glance followed his. 
 
 The passing of the two gondolas occupied no more 
 than a couple of minutes. But the incidents com- 
 prised in some minutes remain with us all our lives. 
 The approaching boat was a large one, rowed by two 
 gondoliers, for, though it had only one passenger, it 
 carried a pile of luggage, much travel-worn. Clo- 
 dagh's eyes noted this, but they did so very briefly; 
 for instantly the gondola drew level with her own, 
 her glance lifted itself to the owner of the lug- 
 gage — the man to whom Barnard had waved his 
 greeting. 
 
 She saw him with great distinctness, for the early 
 light in Italy is peculiarly penetrating, and her first 
 thought — a purely instinctive one — was that he pos- 
 sessed a sailor's face. His strong, clean-cut features 
 suggested a keen and intimate relationship with 
 natural elements; his healthily clear skin was tanned 
 by sun and wind ; and his eyes looked out upon the 
 world with the quiet reliance that seems a reflection 
 of the steadfast ocean. The first impression of the 
 man was vaguely daunting. There was something 
 self-contained, even cold, in the erect pose of his 
 tall, muscular figure. Then, quite unexpectedly, his 
 critic gained a new impression of him. As the gon- 
 dolas passed each other he leaned forward in his 
 
 228
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 seat, and his thin, clean-shaven lips parted in a very 
 pleasant smile. 
 
 "Ubiquitous as usual, Barnard," he called, in a 
 strong, fresh voice. "I might have known you 
 would be the first man I should run across." 
 
 He raised his cap, and Clodagh saw that his hair 
 was crisp, close-cut, and very fair, giving an agreeable 
 touch of youthfulness to his sunburned face. 
 
 Barnard laughed, and responded with some words 
 of welcome. 
 
 The stranger smiled and nodded. 
 
 "Come round and see me this afternoon," he cried, 
 as the gondolas drew apart. "I'm staying at the 
 Franieh." 
 
 "Who was that?" Clodagh asked, involuntarily, 
 as the stranger's boat glided out of sight. Then she 
 blushed suddenly. "Why are you laughing?" she 
 demanded. 
 
 Barnard smiled. 
 
 "I am not laughing, Mrs. Milbanke," he mur- 
 mured. "I assure you I am not laughing. It is the 
 merest smile at nature's little bit of stage manage- 
 ment. That interestingly bronzed young Englishman 
 is Sir Walter Gore."
 
 XXIV 
 
 THIS little incident — this small and yet significant 
 interlude — in Clodagh's day of new -bom free- 
 dom, possessed a weight and an importance all its 
 own. It is quite possible that, taken as a mere note 
 in the tuneful, inconsequent symphony of her social 
 life in Venice, Barnard's expression of his sentiments 
 might have glanced across her mind, leaving no defi- 
 nite impression. But the web of fate is wonderfully 
 woven. Barnard had propounded those sentiments 
 through the medium of a name — a name which was 
 to be indelibly printed upon Clodagh's memory by 
 the strangely opportune appearance of its owner. 
 
 At the moment when the gondolas passed — at the 
 moment when Barnard laughingly explained the 
 stranger's identity, the name of Walter Gore took on 
 a new significance — became a personal, concrete ele- 
 ment in touch with her own existence. 
 
 In studying the effect of this incident upon her ac- 
 tions, it must be borne closely in mind that Clodagh's 
 moral position was strangely incongruous — a position 
 to which not one among her new acquaintances possess- 
 ed a key. She was a married woman with the vitality, 
 the curiosity, the sense of adventure of a girl in her 
 first season. She was like a plant that, having been 
 shut for long in dark places, is suddenly exposed to 
 the influences of warmth and light. She glowed, she 
 blossomed, she expanded under every passing touch. 
 
 230
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 As r.hc leaned back against the cushions of the 
 gondola and met the amused and quizzical glance that 
 accompanied Barnard's explanation, her thoughts 
 sprang forward under a certain stimulus of excite- 
 ment; her blood — the blood of a reckless, adventur- 
 ous race — leaped suddenly in response to a new idea. 
 She looked up at her companion, her face glowing, her 
 hands clasped lightly in her lap. 
 
 "Mr. Barnard," she said, "will Sir Walter Gore 
 be at the Palazzo Ugochini to-night?" 
 
 Barnard met her glance. For a moment he studied 
 her whimsically, then he responded by putting a ques- 
 tion of his own. 
 
 "Mrs. Milbanke," he asked, "is it true that when 
 you dare an Irishman to do a certain thing that 
 thing is as good as done?" 
 
 Clodagh's lashes fluttered and she colored hotly; 
 then with the naive defiance, the intoxication of 
 youthful assurance, she lifted her eyes again and 
 gave another bright, clear laugh. 
 
 "Two unanswered questions should be as good as 
 one reply," she said, looking straight into his face. 
 
 All that day Clodagh went about her concerns with 
 a delightful, furtive sense of things to come. In the 
 evening she came down to dinner arrayed in a dress 
 of lace and embroidery that had come from Vienna 
 only three weeks before. The dress possessed sweep- 
 ing lines that defined her slight and rounded figure; 
 and above the jewelled lace of the bodice her slight, 
 graceful shoulders, smooth as ivory, and as wann in 
 tone, showed bare of any ornament. The faint olive 
 of her skin was enriched by the neutral color of her 
 dress, and in the bright light of the hotel rooms the 
 underlying gleam of gold was distinctly visible in her 
 
 231
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 brown hair. Her whole appearance as she entered 
 the dining-room was subtly attractive, and in every 
 detail of her expression pleasure and anticipation 
 gleamed like tangible things. From the color that 
 wavered in her cheeks, the dilated pupils that turned 
 her eyes from hazel to black, she was the living em- 
 bodiment of eager expectation. 
 
 Neither Deerehurst, Serracauld, nor Barnard dined 
 at the hotel that night, but from the eyes of more 
 than one stranger she read the assurance that she had 
 not arrayed herself in vain ; and youthfully conscious 
 of a subtle, impersonal success, her eager spirits rose 
 high. 
 
 Regardless of Milbanke's monosyllabic answers, 
 she kept up a stream of conversation ; and at last, 
 when she rose with the general company, she did not 
 leave the room, but paused with her hand on the back 
 of his chair. 
 
 "I am going for my cloak, James," she said. 
 "Mr. Barnard is to call for me. Shall we say good- 
 night now?" Her face, as she bent forward, leaning 
 over his shoulder, was filled with a bright preoccu- 
 pation. 
 
 The scene was no new one — nor was its lesson new. 
 It merely expounded the eternal disparity between 
 the present generation and the past. On the one 
 hand was the patient surrender of the being who has 
 known life with its poor compensations and its tardy 
 requitals; on the other, the impatience, the ardor, 
 the egotism of the being who longs to know — to tear 
 the bandage from his blind, curious eyes; to shake 
 the fetters from his eager, groping hands. It was 
 a scene that is enacted every day of every year by 
 fathers and daughters, mothers and sons. A scene 
 in which, daily and yearly, a merciful nature miti- 
 
 232
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 gates the tragic truth by means of a blessed sanity — 
 an instinctive renunciation. But this was no case for 
 natural healing balm; this was no case of father and 
 daughter — but of husband and wife. 
 
 "Shall we say good-night ?" Clodagh asked again. 
 
 Milbanke started and looked up, and something in 
 her warm beauty, something in her gracious youth, 
 affected him. 
 
 "Clodagh," he said, timidly. "Clodagh, are you 
 — are you very anxious? Will you enjoy this party 
 very much ?" 
 
 Clodagh looked down on him in frank surprise. 
 
 "Why, of course!" she said. "Why do you ask?" 
 
 His gaze wavered before her level glance. He 
 looked round at the fast emptying room. 
 
 "No reason, my dear," he murmured. "No rea- 
 son, I assure you. Go to your party. Enjoy your- 
 self." 
 
 At his words she bent quickly and brushed his 
 forehead with her lips, but so lightly, so imthinkingly, 
 that the act was valueless. 
 
 "Good - night," she said. "Good -night, James. 
 And thank you." 
 
 She straightened herself quickly, and, with a mind 
 already speeding feverishly forward towards the 
 night's amusement, turned and walked out of the 
 room. 
 
 It was nine o'clock when she and Barnard arrived 
 at the Palazzo Ugochini, and already the deep purple 
 of the Venetian night was wrapping the \'aterways 
 in mysterious shade. But to-night she was less ab- 
 sorbed in outward things. An engrossing idea occu- 
 pied her mind. She felt at once siircr—and less sure 
 — of herself than she had felt the night before. 
 
 The time occupied in reaching the palace and 
 
 233
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 mounting the marble steps seemed to her very brief; 
 and almost before she realized that the moment had 
 come she heard her own and Barnard's names an- 
 nounced by Lady Frances Hope's English servant. 
 
 Her first sensation upon entering the salon was an 
 almost childish satisfaction in the thought that she 
 had dressed so carefully; for it needed but a glance to 
 show her that the evening's gathering was of a very 
 much more important nature than that of the pre- 
 vious night. Quite fifty people were grouped about 
 the lofty and ancient room, whose centre and pivot 
 was again the gaudy, modem roulette-table; and 
 towards this table, with its surrounding group of gay 
 and noisy votaries, she and Barnard turned as if by 
 instinct. 
 
 Nearing the circle of gamblers, she saw that Luard 
 — her acquaintance of last evening — was officiating at 
 the game, to the delight and amusement of his clients; 
 while at a little distance from the table she caught 
 sight of her hostess in conversation with a tall man 
 whose remarkably fair and close-cropped hair gave 
 her a sudden thrill of recognition. 
 
 As in duty bound, she walked straight forward to 
 where Lady Frances was standing. And as she mur- 
 mured her greeting, her hostess turned quickly, ap- 
 praising in a single rapid glance every detail of her 
 dress, her hair, her complexion, while she extended 
 her hand with a cordial gesture. It may be possible 
 that the cordiality cost Lady Frances an effort — that 
 the smile with which she greeted her radiant guest 
 covered a suggestion of feminine chagrin ; but if so, 
 no one detected it. Her welcome sounded genuine 
 and even warm. 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Milbanke!" she exclaimed. "How 
 charming of you to remember! And how charming 
 
 234
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 you look!" she added, in a whisper meant for Clo- 
 dagh's ear alone. 
 
 Then, with a movement of seemingly spontaneous 
 hospitality, she turned to the fair-haired stranger, 
 who had fallen into conversation with Barnard. 
 
 "Walter," she said, "I should like you to know 
 Mrs. Milbanke. Mrs. Milbanke, allow me to intro- 
 duce Sir Walter Gore." 
 
 It was the affair of a moment. The stranger made 
 a gesture of excuse to Barnard, turned quickly, and 
 bowed with well-bred deference. Then he raised his 
 head, and for the first time Clodagh met his glance — 
 the clear, fearless glance, slightly reserved, slightly 
 aloof, that carried with it the suggestion of the sea. 
 His look was quiet, steady, and absolutely impersonal. 
 
 Clodagh, instantly conscious of this polite reserve, 
 felt her face redden. She was aware of a distinct 
 sensation of being smaller — less important to the 
 scheme of things — than she had been five minutes 
 earlier. Her vanity was inexplicably, yet palpably, 
 hurt. Her first feeling was a distressed humility, 
 her second an angry pride. Then a new expression 
 leaped into her eyes. Smartingly conscious of Bar- 
 nard's interested, quizzical glance fixed expectantly 
 upon her, she challenged the stranger's regard. 
 
 " How d' you do ?" she said. " I think I have seen 
 you before." 
 
 He smiled politely. 
 
 " Indeed!" he said. " In England ?" His tone was 
 courteous and attentive, but neither curious nor in- 
 terested. 
 
 Her color deepened. 
 
 "No. Here in Venice — this morning. I was in 
 Mr. Barnard's gondola when you were coming from 
 the station to your hotel." 
 
 235
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 He looked at her, then at Barnard — a perfectly- 
 honest, unaffected glance. 
 
 "Indeed!" he said again. "I certainly remember 
 seeing that Mr. Barnard was not alone, but I was 
 remiss enough not to notice who the lady was." 
 
 For one second a feeling of resentment— almost of 
 dislike — stung Clodagh. The next, her old daring 
 mood of years ago sprang up within her like a flame. 
 
 "Where I come from," she said, "no man would 
 have the courage to say that." 
 
 Barnard laughed. 
 
 "Assume a virtue if you have it not. Is that the 
 Irish code?" 
 
 Gore smiled. 
 
 "If that is the Irish code," he said, gravely, "I'm 
 afraid Ireland only echoes the rest of Europe. As- 
 sumption is the art of the twentieth century. The 
 man who can assume most climbs highest. Isn't 
 that so, Lady Frances?" 
 
 He turned to their hostess. 
 
 Clodagh stood silent. She was filled with a hu- 
 miliating, childish sensation of having been rebuked 
 — rebuked by some one whose natural stiperiority 
 placed him beyond reach of childish temper or child- 
 ish violence. The sensation that many a time in old 
 and distant days had sent her flying to the shelter of 
 Hannah's arms rose intolerably keen. With a de- 
 fiant sense of futility and loneliness, she turned away 
 from the little group, only to encounter the pallid, 
 unemotional face and stiff, distinguished figure of 
 Lord Deerehurst, who had come slowly towards her 
 across the room. 
 
 Extending his hand, he took her fingers and bowed 
 over them. 
 
 "Mrs. Milbanke," he said, "I have just been 
 
 236
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 mentally accusing Lady Frances of surrounding me 
 by so many acquaintances that I could not find one 
 friend. Now I desire to retract." 
 
 "You have found a friend?" In the sudden re- 
 lief — the sudden touch of unexpected flattery — Clo- 
 dagh's mobile face underwent a change. 
 
 At sound of their greeting Sir Walter Gore in- 
 voluntarily turned, and, seeing the old peer, made a 
 slight movement of surprise and extended his hand. 
 
 "Lord Deerehurst!" he said. "I did not know 
 you were in Venice!" 
 
 They shook hands without cordiality, and, having 
 murmured some conventional remark, the older man 
 turned again to Clodagh. 
 
 "Yes," he said, ignoring the interruption to their 
 conversation — "yes, I have found a friend." 
 
 His cold eyes gave point to the words. 
 
 She laughed and colored. Again she was conscious 
 of Barnard's amused, speculative gaze; but also she 
 was conscious of the quiet, uninterested, slightly criti- 
 cal eyes of her new acquaintance. Goaded by the 
 double spur, she glanced up into Deerehurst's face. 
 
 "Well?" she said. "And now?" 
 
 " Now I am in my friend's hands." 
 
 He made a profound and eloquent bow. 
 
 Again she colored, but again vanity and mortifica- 
 tion stirred her blood. With a winning movement 
 she took a step forward. 
 
 "Your friend would like to listen to philosophy on 
 the balcony," she said, in a recklessly low voice.
 
 XXV 
 
 To the superficial student of Clodagh's character 
 this development of a phase in her mental growth 
 may present itself as something distasteful — even un- 
 worthy; but to the serious student of human nature, 
 with its manifold and wonderful complexities, it must 
 perforce come clothed in a different guise. 
 
 Placed by circumstances in a singularly isolated 
 position — springing from a race in whom love of 
 power, love of admiration, love of love itself are in- 
 herent qualities — is it to be wondered at that, in the 
 first flush of her realized sovereignty over men, she 
 should view the world from a slightly giddy altitude ? 
 
 No one grudges her triumphs and her innocent 
 intrigues to the girl in her first season. Humanity 
 looks on indulgently while she breaks her first lance 
 with the candid joy, the pardonable egotism that is 
 bred of youth. And, incongruous as it may sound, 
 Clodagh's was the position of the debutante. She 
 was comprehending for the first time — and compre- 
 hending with accumulated emotion — the fact that she 
 possessed an individual path in life. And with the 
 arrogance of inexperience she sprang to the conclusion 
 that every foot crossing that path should yield her a 
 toll of homage. 
 
 And now one foot had crossed it without pause, 
 without even a desire to linger! Her cheeks burned 
 under the smart of her hurt vanity as she turned 
 
 238
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 from the little group that surrounded Lady Frances 
 Hope and allowed Deerehurst to lead her across the 
 salon. Her emotions were many and confused, but 
 one personality occupied her thoughts against the 
 angry expostulations of her reason. By an illogical 
 but very human sequence of impressions, Sir Walter 
 Gore had, in one moment, become the most objec- 
 tionable — and the most interesting — person of her 
 acquaintance. 
 
 As she stepped out upon the balcony, Deerehurst 
 drew forward the low chair that she had occupied the 
 night before, and she sank into it with a sigh of satis- 
 faction. For the first time in the glamour of her new- 
 found excitement she felt glad to escape from the 
 crowd and the lights of the salon. 
 
 For a while her companion made no effort to break 
 the silence that she seemed anxious to preserve, then 
 at last he changed his position, stepped softly for- 
 ward, and laid his hand on the back of her 
 chair. 
 
 "Is what Barnard tells me true?" he asked. "Are 
 you really leaving Venice in a week?" 
 
 She bent her head without looking up. 
 
 "But surely we can persuade you — " 
 
 His voice quickened, then broke off, as Clodagh 
 turned to him. 
 
 "What does it matter to any one whether I go or 
 stay?" she asked, in a slightly tremulous voice. 
 
 The only surprise that Deerehurst betrayed was 
 shown in the narrowing of his cold eyes. He studied 
 her penetratingly for a moment, then he spoke again, 
 very quietly. 
 
 "Mrs. Milbanke," he said, "can you ask that ques- 
 tion in good faith?" 
 
 A faint touch of last night's embarrassment wavered 
 
 239
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 across her mind, but this time she swept it defiantly 
 aside. 
 
 "Yes; I do mean it." 
 
 She turned, and again looked up into his face. 
 
 "And am I to answer in good faith?" 
 
 She bent her head, still looking at him. 
 
 "Then, judging by the one case of which I can con- 
 fidently speak, yes. Distinctly yes!" 
 
 There was a pause, and Clodagh gave a faint laugh. 
 
 "And whose is the one case?" 
 
 Her voice sotmded cool, high, even slightly in- 
 different. It piqued Deerehurst to a further step. 
 He answered her question with another. 
 
 "Mrs. Milbanke," he said, "have you ever heard 
 of Circe?" 
 
 Again she laughed. 
 
 "My education was extensive, if very intermit- 
 tent," she said. "Yes, I have heard of Circe — and 
 her wild beasts." 
 
 He echoed the laugh in his thin, expressive voice. 
 
 "I see the implication. But I can render it value- 
 less. I would willingly play even wild beast — to 
 your Circe!" 
 
 He bent over her chair. 
 
 She drew away with a slight, sharp movement; 
 but he did not alter his position. 
 
 "Do you know that a man would follow you — 
 anywhere?" 
 
 "Anywhere?" 
 
 "Anywhere." 
 
 He let his hand glide softly from the back of the 
 chair to her shoulder. 
 
 At the touch of his fingers she slipped away from 
 him with a noiseless movement and rose quickly to 
 her feet. 
 
 240
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Then follow me back to the salon," she said, in 
 a voice that still sounded high and light, but that 
 held an undemote of nervousness. 
 
 There was a constrained pause, but it was one of 
 short duration. Deerehurst was not the man to be 
 easily taken at a disadvantage. For one instant a 
 glimmering of chagrin showed on his composed face; 
 the next it was gone. He straightened his dignified 
 figure and felt mechanically for his eye-glass. 
 
 "Ton my word!" he said. "I believe you are 
 Circe. Use your prerogative." 
 
 He turned, laughed a little, and indicated the 
 salon with a courtly gesture. 
 
 Clodagh looked at him. He puzzled and discon- 
 certed her. To one whose innate instinct was a 
 yielding to impulse, his absolute impassivity in face 
 of disconcerting situations was something incompre- 
 hensible. And now, as he stepped aside to give her 
 passage, she gave a quick laugh, expressive of both 
 embarrassment and relief, and crossed the balcony 
 with a certain instinctive haste. 
 
 During their absence the crowd in the salon had 
 increased; the press about the roulette-table had be- 
 come denser; while at half a dozen card-tables, shel- 
 tered from the general gatherings by large screens of 
 old Italian leather-work, parties of four were playing 
 bridge. 
 
 Ignoring these latter groups, Clodagh crossed the 
 room towards the roulette-table, and paused upon 
 the outskirts of the crowd that surrounded it. 
 
 Deerehurst, following her closely, narrowed his 
 eyes with a touch of interest as he saw that, either 
 by intention or accident, she had halted beside Sir 
 Walter Gore. 
 
 "Well?" he said, in his thin, satirical voice, as he 
 i6 241
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 gained her side. "Well, shall we combine forces as 
 we did last night? I brought you luck, remember." 
 
 She turned upon him almost sharply. 
 
 "No!" she said; "no! I don't play roulette." 
 
 At the vehemence of her denial he raised his eye- 
 brows, and Sir Walter Gore looked round. Seeing 
 the speaker, an involuntary gleam of surprise crossed 
 his face. 
 
 "Surely you are not so unfashionable as to disap- 
 prove of gambling, Mrs. Milbanke ?" he asked, in an 
 even voice. 
 
 Clodagh raised her eyes, and this time her glance 
 was free from coquetry. 
 
 " I have not been fashionably brought up," she said. 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 The surprise- — and with it a reluctant interest — 
 deepened in Gore's glance. But his eyes wandered 
 doubtfully over her dress. 
 
 Invariably quick to follow a train of thought, she 
 gave a short, comprehending laugh. 
 
 "Oh, I know what you are thinking of," she cried. 
 "I don't look as if I belong to the wilds. People 
 never understand that dressing is a knack that comes 
 to women and does not really mean anything." 
 
 He smiled, amused against his will. 
 
 Again she laughed, like a child who has been 
 praised. 
 
 "Oh, it's quite true," she added. "I could tell 
 you of dozens of cases — " 
 
 But her flow of confidence was suddenly termi- 
 nated. Valentine Serracauld, catching sight of her 
 through the throng of people, had made a hasty way 
 towards her. His finely cut, colorless face was ani- 
 mated and his dark-gray eyes looked excited as he 
 reached her side. 
 
 242
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 " How d' you do ? How d' you do, Mrs. Milbanke ?" 
 he exclaimed. "Please congratulate me! I've had 
 a run of luck! Netted seventy pounds!" 
 
 Clodagh's lips parted. 
 
 "Seventy pounds!" she said, breathlessly, and in- 
 stinctively she turned to Gore. Rut Gore's place was 
 empty. At Serracauld's approach he had moved 
 unostentatiously away. 
 
 At the knowledge that he was gone a sense of 
 disappointment fell upon her. She glanced imcer- 
 tainly at Deerehurst. 
 
 The old peer, who had been a cynical observer of 
 the little scene, gave a thin laugh. 
 
 "Our friend Gore is fearful of contamination," he 
 said, glancing at his nephew. 
 
 Serracauld laughed. 
 
 "Gore!" he said, contemptuously. "Oh, Gore and 
 I never did chum up. But where have you been 
 hiding yourself all day?" He turned again to Clo- 
 dagh. "We have had dark suspicions that old 
 Barny has been buying up your society with stock- 
 exchange tips. Come now, confess!" He paused 
 and laughed, looking with intent admiration into her 
 expressive face. 
 
 And Clodagh — sailing upon the tide of present 
 things, elated by the eager interest of two men, and 
 excited by the grudging interest of a third — forgot 
 that for every frail craft such as hers there is an 
 ultimate harbor to be gained, a future to be reckoned 
 with. She lifted her head, met Serracauld's search- 
 ing glance, and echoed his inconsequent laugh.
 
 XXVI 
 
 THE next day Clodagh made one of a party to 
 Lido, and the same night accompanied Lady 
 Frances Hope, Deerehurst, and Serracauld to a thea- 
 tre; but on neither occasion did she meet, or even see. 
 Sir Walter Gore. 
 
 On the afternoon of the second day, however, he 
 again appeared upon the scene of her interests, and in 
 an unexpected manner. 
 
 The hour was six, and she, with Barnard and 
 Milbanke, was seated on the hotel terrace chatting 
 desultorily in the warmth of the early evening. 
 
 While they talked a gondola gHded up to the hotel 
 steps, and in the glow of the waning sun they saw 
 Gore step from the boat, pause to give some order to 
 the gondolier, and then mount the stone steps. 
 
 They all three saw him simultaneously. Clodagh, 
 to her own annoyance, colored, and Barnard smiled 
 in his observant, quizzical fashion. 
 
 "I didn't tell you that Gore was coming to see me 
 this afternoon, Mrs. Milbanke," he said, in an un- 
 dertone. " I had a fancy that you might run away. ' 
 
 The flush on Clodagh's face deepened. 
 
 "Run away!" she exclaimed, in angry haste. 
 
 But Barnard rose without replying and went for- 
 ward to meet his visitor. 
 
 Having greeted his host. Gore turned to Clodagh. 
 
 * How d' you do, Mrs. Milbanke?" he said, raising 
 nis hat. Then he looked interrogatively at Milbanke. 
 
 244
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Barnard made a sweeping gesture. 
 
 "My old friend, Mr. James Milbanke," he said. 
 "James, Sir Walter Gore." 
 
 Milbanke looked up quickly, and the younger man 
 held out his hand with a pleasant touch of cordial- 
 ity. 
 
 "How d' you do, sir?" he said. "Are you making 
 a long stay in Venice?" 
 
 With a friendly movement he pulled forward one 
 of the wicker chairs and seated himself beside Mil- 
 banke. 
 
 Clodagh, leaning far back in her own long, low 
 seat, looked at him curiously. Unconsciously the re- 
 membrance of Serracauld's careless manner upon a 
 similar occasion of first introduction recurred to her 
 mind, coupled with the knowledge of Barnard's con- 
 temptuous idea of her husband — his fads and his 
 peculiarities. What could this man see to attract 
 him in a dry archaeologist of twice his age ? She 
 found herself waiting intently for his next remark — 
 his next action. 
 
 "Are you making a long stay?" he repeated, set- 
 tling himself in his chair. 
 
 Milbanke, surprised and pleased at the unexpected 
 attention, sat up stiffly in his seat. 
 
 "Oh no," he said. "No. We are leaving in three 
 or four days. I — I am interested in antiquity, and 
 should, properly speaking, be in Sicily at the present 
 moment. Perhaps you have heard of the very re- 
 markable researches that are being carried on there ?" 
 
 Gore smiled. 
 
 "No, I'm afraid I must confess ignorance. I know 
 disgracefully little about the past." 
 
 Barnard, fearing a dissertation from Milbanke, in- 
 terrupted with a laugh. 
 
 245
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "I'm afraid most of us find the present more al- 
 luring." 
 
 He cast a swift glance at Clodagh. 
 
 But Clodagh, still annoyed with him and with 
 herself — still puzzled by Gore's attitude — lifted her 
 head sharply. 
 
 "At least," she said, "we can be sure that the 
 present is genuine." 
 
 Gore turned and looked at her. 
 
 "Are you quite sure of that, Mrs. Milbanke?" he 
 asked, quietly. "Don't you think there is trickery 
 and deception in the manufacture of many things 
 besides the antique?" 
 
 Her glance faltered. 
 
 "I have seen a lot of unauthentic relics," she said, 
 with a touch of obstinacy. 
 
 " And I a lot of unauthentic life." 
 
 He looked at her with a slight smile. 
 
 The smile stung her tmreasonably. 
 
 "Some people can never become connoisseurs," 
 she retorted, quickly. 
 
 Gore laughed, but without offence. 
 
 "Not of treasures, perhaps, but with experience 
 and observation surely any one can become a judge 
 of men— and women." 
 
 Clodagh forced herself to smile. 
 
 "You disapprove of women?" 
 
 "Disapprove! Indeed, no." 
 
 But here Barnard interposed with one of his suave 
 gestures. 
 
 "He only disapproves of the modern woman, Mrs. 
 Milbanke!" 
 
 Gore turned to him good-humoredly. 
 
 "Wrong, Barnard," he said. "I admire the mod- 
 cm woman — the truly modern woman. It is the 
 
 246
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 society woman — of any period — that I lose patience 
 with." 
 
 Barnard smiled. 
 
 "The present-day woman is very proud of her 
 complex life," he said, smoothly, "her big card debts 
 and her little intrigues." 
 
 Gore's healthy face turned a shade redder. 
 
 "I know," he said, tersely. "But to me a woman 
 with no higher ambition than the playing of cards 
 winter and summer, afternoon after afternoon, is — 
 is pitiable." 
 
 Clodagh leaned forward. 
 
 "Perhaps they play cards because they have no 
 real interests." 
 
 He looked at her quickly. 
 
 "And why have they no real interests, Mrs. Mil- 
 banke? Isn't it because they reject all simple, 
 natural, wholesome things? Such women do not 
 know the meaning of the word home. They do not 
 want a home — or home life — as the women of the last 
 generation understood it." 
 
 "Ah, there you touch bottom, my dear Gore! 
 There you are in your depth!" Again Barnard gave 
 one of his smooth, tactful laughs. "This young man 
 has a great pull over us, Mrs. Milbanke, when he 
 compares the present generation with the past." 
 
 At the suave words Gore made a slightly em- 
 barrassed gesture, and looked instinctively towards 
 Milbanke. 
 
 "Forgive my tirade, sir," he said, a httle con- 
 fusedly. " Mr. Barnard is right. I have rather a 
 high ideal of womanhood. I am possessed of a — a 
 very remarkable mother." 
 
 "A mother!" Clodagh looked round impulsively. 
 "Oh, tell me what she is like!" 
 
 247
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 With a certain spontaneity Gore turned to re- 
 spond to her question, but before his eyes met hers 
 their glance was intercepted by a shrewd, amused, 
 inquiring look from Barnard. The effect of the look 
 was strange. His emotion, so suddenly aroused, died 
 suddenly. His face became passive, even a little 
 cold. He straightened his shoulders, and gave the 
 restrained, self-conscious laugh that the Englishman 
 resorts to when he feels that his sentiments have en- 
 trapped him. 
 
 "Oh, you must not ask me what my mother is 
 like, Mrs. Milbanke," he said. "I could not give 
 you an unbiassed opinion. As it is, I have been 
 wasting your time unpardonably. Barnard, do you 
 think Mrs. Milbanke will excuse you for ten minutes ?" 
 
 Barnard rose slowly. 
 
 "Do not put me to the pain of saying 'yes,'" he 
 exclaimed. "Let me imagine that I am tearing 
 myself away against Mrs. Milbanke's express desire. 
 Au revoir, Mrs. Milbanke. Au revoir, James." 
 
 He nodded, and sauntered off in the direction of 
 the hotel door. 
 
 A moment later Gore shook hands silently with 
 Clodagh and her husband, and moved away in the 
 same direction. 
 
 As he disappeared into the hotel Milbanke folded 
 his newspaper with interested haste. 
 
 "What a well-mannered young man!" he said. 
 "Who is he? What is his name?" 
 
 Clodagh was sitting very still, her hands clasped in 
 her lap, her eyes fixed upon some distant object. 
 
 "Gore," she said, shortly. "Gore. Sir Walter Gore." 
 
 "Gore!" Milbanke repeated the name as though 
 it pleased him. "A fine young fellow. Very unlike 
 the majority of young men of the present day." 
 
 248
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Cloilaijh said nothing. 
 
 "Don't you agree with me, my dear?" 
 
 As if by an effort, she recalled her wandering gaze, 
 turned her head slowly, and looked at her husband. 
 
 "He — he certainly seems unlike other people," she 
 admitted, in a low voice. 
 
 After this rejoinder there was silence. Clodagh, 
 her brows drawn together in a perplexed frown, re- 
 lapsed into her former absorbed contemplation ; 
 while Milbanke, having changed his position once 
 or twice, shook out the sheets of his newspaper and 
 buried himself in the lengthy report of a scientific 
 meeting. 
 
 But scarcely had he reached the end of his first 
 paragraph than a large shadow fell across the page, 
 and, looking up quickly, he saw the ponderous figure 
 of Mr. Angelo Tomes. 
 
 At the sight of his hero he started, colored with 
 pleasure, and rose hastily. 
 
 "Mr. Tomes!" he exclaimed. "Clodagh, my dear, 
 here is Mr. Tomes." 
 
 Clodagh turned without enthusiasm, and looked 
 at the loose figure and unkempt hair of the scientist. 
 
 "I do not think you and my — my wife have met, 
 Mr. Tomes!" Milbanke broke in, with a nervous at- 
 tempt at geniality. 
 
 Mr. Tomes bowed. 
 
 "No; but I have many times seen Mrs. Milbanke," 
 he said, ponderously. 
 
 Clodagh bent her head, noting with the fastidious 
 intolerance of youth that his clothes were baggy and 
 his hands unclean. 
 
 Milbanke gave a nervous, conciliatory laugh. 
 
 " I — I have noticed that great men are always ob- 
 servant," he said, jocularly. 
 
 249
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Mr. Tomes smiled. 
 
 "That is scarcely a compliment to Mrs. Milbanke," 
 he interposed, consciously. 
 
 Clodagh looked up and met his eyes. 
 
 "I don't wish to be paid compliments, Mr. Tomes," 
 she said. "Please don't try to think of any. Did 
 you come to take my husband out?" 
 
 Mr. Tomes stammered, visibly crestfallen. 
 
 "Well," he began, "there is a certain archway in 
 one of the smaller churches which I think Mr. Mil- 
 banke ought to see. But as an archway is not too 
 weighty for a lady's consideration, it struck me — it 
 occurred to me — " 
 
 But Clodagh cut him short. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Tomes, I'm much too frivolous even for 
 archways. Don't take me into your calculations; I 
 should only spoil them. Of course it's very kind of 
 you," she added, with tardy remorse, "but the ex- 
 periment would be a failure. Ask my husband — " 
 
 Milbanke looked distressed. 
 
 "Oh, my dear — " he began. 
 
 But Clodagh's nerves were jarred. 
 
 " I know," she broke in — " I know it's awfully kind 
 of Mr. Tomes. But I couldn't go to see an archway 
 to-day. I couldn't. I really — really couldn't." 
 
 Mr. Tomes relapsed into a state of pompous offence. 
 
 Milbanke looked from one to the other in nervous 
 misery. 
 
 "Certainly not. Certainly not, my dear," he 
 agreed. "You are tired; you have been doing too 
 much." He peered at her through the softly falling 
 twilight with a look of helpless concern. 
 
 She felt rather than saw the look, and that sensitive 
 dread of being rendered conspicuous that attacks us 
 all in early life caused her to shrink into herself. 
 
 250
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Nonsense!" she said, a little coldly. "I am per- 
 fectly well. Please go and see Mr. Tomcs's archway 
 — I don't mind being left alone. I would like to be 
 left alone." 
 
 Milbanke stirred uneasily. 
 
 " Of course, my dear, if you wish it," he murmured. 
 "Mr. Tomes, shall we — ? Are you ready — ?" 
 
 He waved his hand towards the canal. 
 
 Mr. Tomes drew his loose limbs together, and 
 bowed formally to Clodagh. 
 
 "Certainly, if you wish it, Mr. Milbanke," he said, 
 stiffly, and walked off along the terrace. 
 
 Milbanke did not follow him at once. He stood 
 looking at his wife in pained uncertainty. 
 
 "Clodagh, my dear, " he began at last, "if there 
 is anything I can do — " 
 
 But Clodagh turned away. 
 
 "No," she said, almost inaudibly — "no; there is 
 nothing. I'd like to be alone. I want to be alone." 
 
 And Milbanke — perplexed, embarrassed, vaguely 
 unhappy — turned slowly and walked across the ter- 
 race after his scientific friend. 
 
 Clodagh waited until the last sound of Mr. Tomes's 
 loud, rolling voice had melted into the distance with 
 the departure of his gondola; then with a stiff, tired 
 movement she rose, walked in her own turn across 
 the terrace, and, leaning upon the stone parapet, 
 gazed out into the purple twilight as she had gazed 
 on the evening of her first arrival. 
 
 How long ago — how infinitely far away — that first 
 arrival seemed to her! With the capacity for the 
 assimilation of new emotions that belongs to all her 
 race, she had lived more keenly during the last three 
 days than during the preceding four years. To one 
 of her temperament, life is not a matter of time, but 
 
 251
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 of experience. At seventeen she had been a child; 
 on her twenty-second birthday she had been a girl; 
 and now, when that birthday was past by but a few 
 months, she was conscious of the stirring of her 
 womanhood — roused into swift activity by the first 
 approach of the world with its men and women, its 
 laxities and prejudices, its infinite potentialities for 
 good or evil. 
 
 Some vague foreshadowing of this idea was cast- 
 ing itself across her mind when the thread of her 
 musings was suddenly broken by a quick step sound- 
 ing across the deserted terrace; and with a slight, in- 
 voluntary movement she straightened herself, and 
 brought her hands together upon the cold surface of 
 the parapet. 
 
 Sir Walter Gore had parted with Barnard in the 
 hall of the hotel, and now he crossed the terrace 
 quickly, conscious of the fast-falling twilight. He 
 was close to the flight of stone steps that led to the 
 water before the flutter of Clodagh's light dress 
 caught his preoccupied attention. 
 
 Seeing her, he paused and raised his hat. 
 
 "You look very mysterious, Mrs. Milbanke," he 
 said. "Has your husband gone in-doors ?" 
 
 Clodagh felt herself color. Unreasonably, and 
 seemingly inexplicably, the mention of Milbanke's 
 name jarred upon her. 
 
 "My husband has gone to see an archway in one 
 of the churches," she said, with a twinge of sharp- 
 ness. 
 
 Caught by the inflection of her voice, Gore looked 
 at her more closely through the gathering dusk. 
 
 "And you do not share his taste for the antique?" 
 
 She turned towards him, her eyes alight with a 
 sharp, cold brightness. 
 
 252
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "I hate the antique," she said, with sudden 
 vehemence. 
 
 Almost against his will. Gore looked at her again. 
 
 "And yet you come from Ireland? Isn't every- 
 thing there very old ?" 
 
 For an instant she looked away across the dark- 
 ening waters; then her glance flashed back to his. 
 
 "Yes, old," she said, passionately, "but so natural- 
 ly old that its age is not thrust upon you. Where I 
 come from there is a ruined chapel on the edge of a 
 cliff that dates from the fourth century. And at the 
 present day the peasants pray there just as their 
 ancestors prayed centuries and centuries ago. They 
 don't stare at it and read about it and write about it, 
 like the antiquarians do. They pray there. The chapel 
 isn't a curiosity to them; it's a part of their lives." 
 
 Gore was silent. An unconquerable surprise — a 
 reluctant fascination — held him chained, forgetful 
 of the gathering darkness and of the gondola that 
 awaitea him at the foot of the steps. 
 
 As he stood hesitating Clodagh spoke again. 
 
 "Don't you believe that things should be lived — 
 not merely looked at?" she asked, her voice low and 
 tense. Almost unconsciously the desire to interest 
 this man, to win his attention, to compel him to 
 share her opinions had sprung into her mind. 
 
 Gore answered her with directness. 
 
 "No," he said. "All things cannot be lived." 
 
 His voice was quiet and controlled ; the pose of 
 his body, the look in his eyes, all suggested a tem- 
 pered strength — a curbed vitality. The desire to 
 dominate him rose higher, overshadowing every 
 other sensation in Clodagh's brain. 
 
 She stepped nearer to him, her hand resting on the 
 stone balustrade, her body bending forward. 
 
 253
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Don't you think that when Hfe is so very short 
 we are justified in taking all we can — when we can ?" 
 
 Her warm lips were parted ; her eyes shone with an 
 added light. She was walking on the edge of an 
 abyss with the ardor of one whose gaze is fixed upon 
 the sun. But Gore, seeing only the abyss, girded on 
 his armor. 
 
 "No," he said, slowly and deliberately. "No; 
 that has never been my stand-point." 
 
 "Then you refuse the good things of life when 
 they come your way?" 
 
 "Good is a very elastic word." 
 
 He was fencing, and she realized it. With a subtle 
 change of tone she made a fresh essay. 
 
 "Isn't the meaning of every word merely a mat- 
 ter of inflection ?" 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 "I — I suppose so," he admitted, guardedly. 
 
 She smiled suddenly, looking up into his face. 
 
 "Then to me the word 'good' means all that is 
 warm and light and happy; and to you it means 
 something cold — or unattainable." 
 
 " Indeed, no. You have made a wrong deduction." 
 
 "Well, what does it mean to you?" 
 
 "Mean? I — I am not sure that I can tell you." 
 
 "Perhaps you have not found the meaning." 
 
 "Perhaps not." 
 
 "But you are seeking for it?" 
 
 He laughed a little constrainedly. 
 
 "I may be — unconsciously." 
 
 Again she averted her eyes and turned towards 
 the mysterious canal. 
 
 "Now I understand one thing," she said, in a soft, 
 slow voice. 
 
 " What is that ?" Gore was curious despite himself. 
 
 254
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 " Why they call you ' Sir Galahad.' " 
 
 There was a moment of silence. His face flushed, 
 then turned cold. 
 
 "Indeed!" he said, stiffly. "And, if it is not in- 
 discreet, may I ask who calls me 'Sir Galahad'?" 
 
 At the tone of his voice Clodagh wheeled round. 
 
 "Didn't you know?" she asked. "I thought — oh, 
 I was sure you knew." 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 "No," he said, with elaborate indifference. "No. 
 To whom am I indebted for the name?" 
 
 But his companion was silent. Acutely conscious 
 of having struck a wrong note, she felt angry with 
 herself — angry with him. 
 
 "Who gave me the name?" he asked again. 
 
 " I had better not say. I thought you knew of it." 
 
 " Then I am at liberty to guess. It was Lord Deere- 
 hurst." 
 
 His tone was curt — even contemptuous. 
 
 Clodagh flushed. It seemed as if, by a subtle in- 
 sinuation, he had scorned her. 
 
 "And if it was Lord Deerehurst?" she asked, 
 sharply. 
 
 Gore made an exclamation of contempt. 
 
 "You dislike Lord Deerehurst?" 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "You dislike Lord Deerehurst?" She was per- 
 sistent, remembering keenly and uncomfortably the 
 favor she had shown the old peer in his presence the 
 night before. 
 
 Gore gave a short, indifferent laugh and the sound 
 galled her. 
 
 "Lord Deerehurst is a friend of mine," she said, 
 unwisely. 
 
 He bent his head with a stiff movement. 
 
 255
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "If I have transgressed," he said, "please forgive 
 me. I have already trespassed on your time. Good- 
 bye. Perhaps we shall meet later at the Palazzo 
 Ugochini." 
 
 His voice was cold and very reserved. 
 
 The blood beat hotly and uncomfortably in Clo- 
 dagh's cheeks, but she raised her head and answered 
 in a voice as indifferent as his own. 
 
 "Good-bye. It's quite possible that you may see 
 me at the Palazzo Ugochini; but I can't promise 
 more." 
 
 Gathering up her light skirt she turned and walked 
 across the terrace to the door of the hotel. 
 
 Gore stood and watched her until the last gleam 
 of her dress was lost in the lighted hall; then slowly 
 — thoughtfully — almost reluctantly — he began his 
 descent of the steps.
 
 XXVII 
 
 CLODAGIi'S mood was inexplicable even to her- 
 self as she entered the hotel, ran up-stairs to her 
 own room, and began to dress for dinner. 
 
 She changed her dress with an almost feverish 
 haste, giving herself no time for thought, and then, 
 scarcely waiting to take a final look into the mirror, 
 left the room and hurried down into the hall. There 
 she encountered Barnard. 
 
 "I have just been speaking to your husband," he 
 said, greeting her with a smile. "He has been lured 
 into attending some secret conclave of Italian scien- 
 tists. He asked me to make his excuses to you." 
 
 Clodagh's glance fell. 
 
 "Oh!" she said, with a curious little inflection of 
 the voice. 
 
 "Of course he knew that you were going out to- 
 night ?" 
 
 "Oh yes. Of course." She still kept her lashes 
 lowered. 
 
 Barnard smiled. 
 
 "Mrs. Milbanke," he exclaimed, in a cheerful 
 voice, "suppose you make an evening of it? Lord 
 Deerehurst has asked me to dine with him and Scrra- 
 eauld at the 'Abbati.' Let's form an even party? 
 The old man will be absolutely charmed ; and you 
 have never dined at a restaurant. Say I may ar- 
 range it?" 
 
 n 257
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 For a moment longer Clodagh studied the ground; 
 then very quickly she raised her eyes, and in their 
 depths Barnard read a new expression. 
 
 "After all," she said, tentatively, "why shouldn't 
 we take what comes our way?" 
 
 He extended his hands. 
 
 "Why, indeed? Let me spread the good news?" 
 
 Again Clodagh let her lashes droop. 
 
 "Very well," she said. "Very well. Say that I 
 want to enjoy myself." 
 
 The dignified and placid serenity of Venice had 
 been intruded upon that season by the establish- 
 ment of a fashionable dining-place, which, under the 
 name of the Abbati Restaurant, had taken up its 
 position in a beautiful old house on one of the nar- 
 rower waterways. 
 
 Its, distance from Glodagh's hotel was short; and 
 the journey thither — taken in Lord Deerehurst's 
 gondola, in company with the old peer, Serracauld, 
 and Barnard — occupied but a few minutes. Glo- 
 dagh's first impression, on gliding up the still, dark 
 waterway and stepping out upon the time-worn gar- 
 den steps, was one of delight. And as she stood for 
 a moment in the shadow of the ancient wall, above 
 which the tree-tops rose, casting black reflections 
 into the water that ran beneath them, she was con- 
 scious of the subtle touch of the warm night wind 
 upon her face, of the subtle poetry in the scent of 
 unseen flowers, of the subtle invitation conveyed by 
 the long row of lighted windows seen through a 
 screen of magnolia-trees. 
 
 She had momentarily forgotten her companions, 
 when Deerehurst — the last to leave the gondola — 
 stepped softly to her side. 
 
 258
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "This appeals to you?" he said. 
 
 She started shghtly at his unexpected nearness; 
 then, with a quick impetuosity, she responded to 
 his question. 
 
 "I think it is exquisite," she said. "The hght 
 tlirough the trees suggests such wonderful, mysterious 
 things." 
 
 He smiled under cover of the darkness. 
 
 "It suggests an enchanted banquet. Let us find 
 the presiding genius." 
 
 He laid his fingers lightly on her arm and guided 
 her up the long, dim garden. 
 
 Followed by Serracauld and Barnard, they trav- 
 ersed the shadowy pathways and emerged upon an 
 open space of lawn that fronted the house. 
 
 Three or four of the private rooms were already 
 occupied, and with the faint streams of light that 
 poured from their open windows came the pleasant 
 murmuring of talk and laughter. 
 
 As the little party stepped into the radius of this 
 light, a stately personage in sombre dress came for- 
 ward deferentially, and, recognizing Deerehurst, made 
 a profound bow. 
 
 The old nobleman nodded amiably, as to an ac- 
 quaintance of long standing, and, drawing the man 
 aside, addressed him in F'rench. 
 
 The explanation was brief, and almost at once 
 Deerehurst turned back to his companions. 
 
 "Come, Mrs. Milbanke," he said, in English. "Our 
 friend Abbati proves amenable to ])ersuasion. He 
 will give tis his prettiest room — though we are un- 
 expected guests." 
 
 Clodagh stepped forward with eager curiosity. 
 
 "I never thought a restaurant could be like this," 
 she said. 
 
 259
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Very few of them are, Mrs. Milbanke," mur- 
 mured Barnard, close behind her. "The usual res- 
 taurant is an ostentatious place of white enamel, 
 palms, and lights, where a hundred tongues are vainly- 
 endeavoring to drown a band. This little corner will 
 scarcely outlive another season. It's too perfect — 
 too quiet to find favor with the crowd. It was opened 
 under the patronage — rather, at the suggestion — of 
 Prince Menof, a Sybarite millionaire temporarily out 
 of sorts with Paris. But now Paris smiles once 
 more ; Menof has wearied of Venice ; and poor Abbati 
 begins to tremble." 
 
 Clodagh looked round. 
 
 "But could anything so exquisite be a failure?" 
 
 "Easily, my dear lady. People like to eat their 
 expensive dinners where others can comment on 
 their extravagance. It's a very vulgar world." 
 
 The three men laughed, and Clodagh, slightly dis- 
 tressed, slightly puzzled, stepped through the wide 
 hall to the room that Deerehurst indicated. 
 
 It was a small chamber, long and narrow in shape. 
 The walls were panelled in faded brocade, and the 
 lights were shrouded in silk of some soft hu'e; the 
 floor was covered with a carpet in which wreathed 
 roses formed the chief design; and the furniture con- 
 sisted of one oval table, four beautiful old chairs, and 
 a couple of ancient French mirrors. As Deerehurst 
 stepped forward to relieve Clodagh of her cloak, four 
 waiters entered noiselessly, and almost immediately 
 dinner was served. 
 
 It was a dinner such as Prince Menof would have 
 delighted in. There was nothing tedious, nothing 
 monotonous in the six or seven courses that com- 
 prised its menu; each stimulated and gratified the 
 appetite without a hint of satiety. It was an epi- 
 
 260
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 curean feast. And it was interesting to study the 
 varying ways in which the guests responded to its 
 appeal. 
 
 Barnard — placid man of the world, indulgent con- 
 noisseur of all the luxuries — openly lingered over the 
 delights of the meal ; Serracauld ate quickly and al- 
 most greedily, as many men of slight build and thin, 
 sensual faces do eat; Deerehurst alone toyed with 
 his food, giving serious attention to nothing beyond 
 the dry toast with which he was kept supplied ; while 
 Clodagh — young enough and healthy enough to have 
 an appetite that needed no tempting — frankly enjoyed 
 her dinner without at all comprehending its excellence. 
 
 During the first portion of the meal conversation 
 was fitful and impersonal; but as the waiters left the 
 table to carry in one of the later dishes the tone of 
 the intercourse underwent a change. Deerehurst 
 turned to Clodagh with. a sudden gesture of concern 
 and intimacy. 
 
 "I see you do not indorse my choice of wine!" 
 he said, in a gently solicitous voice. 
 
 She looked up with slight confusion, then looked 
 down at her untouched glass, in which the cham- 
 pagne bubbles were rapidly subsiding. 
 
 "I — T never drink champagne," she said, a little 
 diffidently. 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Milbanke! And my poor uncle has 
 been sacking the Abbati cellars for this particular 
 vintage!" Serracauld glanced up quickly and al- 
 most reproachfully. 
 
 Barnard laughed as he blissfully drained his own 
 glass. 
 
 "You are really very unkind, Mrs. Milbanke," he 
 murmured. "You make one feel such a deplorable 
 worldling." 
 
 261
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 But Deerehurst looked round towards a waiter 
 re-entering the room. 
 
 "Bring this lady another glass and some more 
 champagne," he said. 
 
 Clodagh turned to him sharply and apprehensively. 
 But he touched her wrist with his finger-tips. 
 
 "Please!" he said, in his thin, high-bred voice. 
 "Please! I want you to taste this wine. I generally 
 have some difficulty in getting it outside my own 
 house." 
 
 His pale, far-seeing eyes rested on her face, and it 
 seemed to her excited fancy that their glance sup- 
 plemented his words — that, as plainly as eyes could 
 speak, they added the suggestion that some day she 
 might honor that house with her presence. The idea 
 confused her. She turned away from him in slight 
 uneasiness; and at the same moment one of the 
 waiters filled her long Venetian glass with the light, 
 golden wine. 
 
 " To please me!" Deerehurst murmured again. " To 
 please me!" 
 
 She looked round, confused and still embarrassed, 
 gave one unsteady, yielding laugh, then lifted the 
 glass. 
 
 " If — if I must — " she said, dcprecatingly. 
 
 Barnard and Serracauld smiled, and Deerehurst 
 raised his own glass. 
 
 "To the next occasion upon which you consent 
 to be my guest!" he said, with a profound and im- 
 pressive bow. 
 
 On the surface, this incident seems scarcely worth 
 recording; yet for Clodagh it marked an epoch — an 
 epoch not evolved through yielding to her host's per- 
 suasions ; not evolved through drinking a single glass of 
 
 262
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 unfamiliar wine ; but evolvnl through the fact that one 
 item in the sum of her prejudices had gone down Ix-fore 
 that potent fetich — the dread of appearing conspicuous. 
 
 With her action a fleeting shadow of self-distrust 
 fell across her mind ; but she swept it aside, as she had 
 previously swept the memory of her interview with 
 Gore. Deep within her lay the specious knowledge 
 that, for her, this bright existence was only transitory 
 — that somewhere behind the lights and music and 
 laughter lay her own individual groove, to which she 
 must return like a modern Cinderella, when the en- 
 chanted interlude of brilliant days was ended. And 
 in this knowledge lay the secret of her greed for joy. 
 Certain of Ihe monotony to come, she caught pas- 
 sionately at every proffered pleasure. 
 
 Ten o'clock had struck before the little party left 
 the restaurant, and although she had drunk no more 
 champagne, and had refused the liqueurs that had 
 been served with coffee, her eyes were excitedly bright 
 as she stepped from the gondola at the steps of the 
 Palazzo Ugochini. 
 
 Mounting the marble stairs with Deerehurst close 
 behind her, she was filled with an exhilarating sense 
 of confidence in herself — of defiance towards the 
 world at large. The memory of the afternoon, when 
 she had stood on the dark terrace and listened to 
 Gore's contemptuous voice, had left her — or remained 
 only as a spur to her enthusiasm. 
 
 The animation — the zest for pleasure — was plainly 
 visible in her eyes as she entered the salon and went 
 forward towards her hostess. And Lady Frances 
 Hope, looking round at sound of her guests' names, 
 saw this peculiar expression with a stirring of curiosity. 
 
 "Where have you all been ?" she asked, as she took 
 Clodagh's hand. 
 
 263
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Barnard laughed. 
 
 "We are shocking truants," he said, gayly. "We 
 have been dining at the 'Abbati.'" 
 
 She looked at him quickly. 
 
 "All four of you?" she asked, shrewdly. 
 
 He smiled. 
 
 "You have a suspicious mind, Frances. Yes; all 
 four of us." 
 
 Lady Frances laughed. 
 
 "No," she said. "I never harbor suspicions. It 
 is Mrs. Milbanke's air of having just discovered some 
 delicious secret that is always prompting me to 
 curiosity." 
 
 "How do you manage to look so triumphant?" 
 She turned again to Clodagh with a long, puzzled 
 glance. " I wish you would impart the secret." 
 
 Clodagh's bright eyes met hers. 
 
 "My father used to say that the secret of happi- 
 ness is never to look beyond the present hour." 
 
 "A philosopher," murmured Deerehurst. 
 
 "I should say a bold man." Barnard looked from 
 the old nobleman to his hostess. 
 
 But almost as he spoke, the name of Sir Walter 
 Gore was announced, and Lady Frances looked 
 sharply towards the door. 
 
 With a quiet, unembarrassed bearing Gore crossed 
 the salon. 
 
 As he approached the little group. Lady Frances 
 stepped towards him with out-stretched hands. 
 
 "How nice of you!" she said, softly. "I began 
 to fear you had forgotten about to-night." 
 
 He took her hand calmly. 
 
 "But I had promised to come," he said, simply. 
 
 And at the words his eyes turned involuntarily 
 towards Clodagh. 
 
 264
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Good-evening, Mrs. Milbankc," he added, in the 
 same level voiec. 
 
 At his glance and his words ClocJagh's expression 
 changed. The vague excitement of the past hours 
 seemed suddenly to focus itself. She realized abrupt- 
 ly that she had not yet vindicated her right to the 
 joy of life. With exaggerated indifference she bent 
 her head in acknowledgment of his greeting, and al- 
 most immediately turned to Deerehurst. 
 
 "Lord Deerehurst," she said, very softly and dis- 
 tinctly, "I want you to do me a favor to-night! I 
 want you to teach me to play roulette!" 
 
 It was her declaration of war — the moment towards 
 which she had unconsciously been tending ever since 
 the interview of the afternoon. She knew it instant- 
 ly the words had left her lips — knew it by the quick 
 surprise in Barnard's eyes, the sharp curiosity in 
 Lady Frances Hope's, the veiled triumph in Deere- 
 hurst's, and the cold disapprobation in Sir Walter 
 Gore's. Without another glance she turned away 
 and walked slowly forward across the salon, to where 
 a couple of dozen people were grouped about the 
 roulette-table. 
 
 As she moved deliberately forward, many heads 
 were turned in her direction, but she was heedless 
 and almost unobservant of the interest she evoked. 
 Her heart was beating fast; she was rejoicing reck- 
 lessly in her vindicated independence. 
 
 Deerehurst overtook her as she halted by the 
 roulette-table. And she was conscious of his pres- 
 ence without looking round. 
 
 "Will you stake for me?" she said, in a quick un- 
 dertone. "You were lucky the other night." 
 
 He stepped forward, smiling with a cold toucii uf 
 wisdom, and took the coin she handed to him. 
 
 265
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 (I 
 
 'What! A convert!" cried Luard, who was again 
 officiating at the game. "Lucktoyou.Mrs.Milbanke!" 
 
 He gave a pleasant laugh as her coin touched the 
 table, and a moment later set the ball spinning. 
 
 Clodagh waited, holding her breath. The ball 
 slackened speed — hesitated over the gayly painted 
 board — and finally dropped into its place. There 
 was a general laugh of excitement; the little crowd 
 pressed closer to the table, and she saw her coin 
 swept into Luard's hands. 
 
 The incident was eventful. Quite suddenly the 
 color leaped into her face and her eyes blazed. In 
 total unconsciousness of self, she stepped forward to 
 the table. 
 
 Deerehurst, closely watchful of her, moved to her side. 
 
 " Shall I stake again ?" he asked, in a whisper. 
 
 But she did not turn her head. 
 
 "No— no!" she cried. "I'll stake for myself." 
 
 Her voice sounded distant and absorbed. It seem- 
 ed in that brief moment that she had forgotten her 
 companion and herself. 
 
 Thrice she staked, and thrice lost; but the losses 
 whetted her desires. She played boldly, with a cer- 
 tain reckless grace bom of complete unconsciousness. 
 At last fortune favored her and she won. Deere- 
 hurst, still standing close beside her, saw the ex- 
 pression of her face, saw the careless — the almost 
 inconsequent — air with which she accepted her 
 spoils, and, noting both, he touched her arm. 
 
 "You are a true gambler," he said, very softly. 
 "You care nothing for gain or loss. You play for 
 the play's sake." 
 
 And Clodagh, with her mind absorbed and her 
 eyes on the roulette-board, gave a quick, high-pitched, 
 unthinking laugh. 
 
 266
 
 XXVIII 
 
 AT nine o'clock on the night following her first 
 /^ venture in the world of gambling, Clodagh was 
 again standing by the roulette-table in Lady Frances 
 Hope's salon. She had been playing for two hours, 
 with luck persistently against her; but no one who 
 had chanced to glance at her eager, excited face 
 would have imagined even for a moment that the 
 collection of coins in her gold -netted purse was 
 dwindling and not increasing. 
 
 Deerehurst had been correct in his deductions. 
 She played for the play's sake. The losing game, 
 the hazardous game, was the one which appealed to 
 and absorbed her; the savor of risk stimulated her; 
 the faint sense of danger lifted her to an enchanted 
 realm. And on this night she made an unconscious- 
 ly picturesque figure as she stood fascinated by the 
 chances of the play — her face flushed, her eyes in- 
 tensely bright, her fingers restlessly eager to make 
 their stakes. Round about her was gathered a little 
 group of interested and admiring men — Deerehurst, 
 Luard, Serracauld, and a couple of young Americans 
 who had come to Venice with introductions to Lady 
 Frances Hope; but on none of them did she bestow 
 more than a preoccupied attention. She permitted 
 them to stand beside her; she laughed softly at their 
 compliments and their jests; but her eyes and her 
 thoughts were unmistakably for the painted board 
 
 267
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 over which Barnard was presiding. Another half- 
 dozen rounds of the game were played ; then suddenly 
 she turned away from the table with a quick laugh. 
 
 "The end," she said to Serracauld, who was stand- 
 ing nearest to her, and with a quick gesture she held 
 up the gold-netted purse, now limp and empty. 
 With an eager movement he stepped forward. 
 "Let me be useful?" he whispered, quickly. 
 "Or me? I represent your husband, you know." 
 Barnard leaned across the roulette-table. 
 "Oh, come, Barny! I spoke first." 
 But Clodagh looked smilingly from one to the 
 other and shook her head. 
 
 "No — no," she said, hastily. "I — I never bor- 
 row money." 
 
 Serracauld looked obviously disappointed. 
 "Nonsense, Mrs. Milbanke — " he began. 
 But Deerehurst intervened. 
 
 " If Mrs. Milbanke does not wish it, Valentine — " 
 he murmured, soothingly. "Mrs. Milbanke, let me 
 take you out of temptation." 
 
 He bowed to Clodagh, and courteously made a pas- 
 sage for her through the crowd that surrounded them. 
 If any cynical remembrance of her first vehement 
 repudiation of the suggestion that she should gamble 
 rose now to confute her newer denial, no shadow of it 
 was visible in his face. 
 
 As they freed themselves from the group of play- 
 ers, they paused simultaneously, and looked for a 
 moment round the large, cool salon, about which the 
 elder or more serious of the assembly were scattered 
 for conversation or cards. Neither spoke; but after 
 a moment's wait Deerehurst turned his pale eyes in 
 the direction of the open windows, and by the faint- 
 est lifting of his eyebrows conveyed a question. 
 
 268
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Clodagh laughed, then silently bent her head, and 
 a moment later they moved forward together across 
 the polished floor. 
 
 As they passed one of the man 3^ groups of statuary 
 that brightened the more shadowed portion of the 
 room, Clodagh caught a glimpse of her hostess, once 
 again in conversation with Sir Walter Gore, and she 
 was conscious in that fleeting moment of Gore's clear, 
 reflective eyes resting on her in a quick regard. 
 
 With a swift, almost defiant, movement she lifted 
 her head, and turned ostentatiously to Deerchurst. 
 
 "Is it to be philosophy to-night?" she asked, in a 
 low, soft voice. 
 
 He paused and looke(;l at her, his cold, pale eyes 
 slow and searching in their regard. 
 
 "Not to-night — Circe," he said, almost below his 
 breath. 
 
 Clodagh colored, gave another quick, excited laugh, 
 and, moving past him, stepped through one of the 
 open windows. 
 
 Gaining the balcony, she did not, as usual, drop 
 into one of the deep lounge - chairs, but, moving 
 straight forward, stood by the iron railing and looked 
 down upon the quiet canal. 
 
 The night was exceptionally clear, even for Italy. 
 Every star was reflected in the smooth, dark waters; 
 while over the opposite palaces a crescent moon hung 
 like a slender reaping-hook, extended from heaven to 
 garner some mystic harvest. 
 
 For a moment Deerchurst hesitated to disturb her; 
 but at last, waiving his scruples, he went softly for- 
 ward and stood beside her. 
 
 "Are you offended?" he asked, in a very low 
 voice. 
 
 "No." 
 
 269
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Her answer came almost absently; her eyes were 
 fixed upon the moon. 
 
 "Then sad?" 
 
 "I don't know. Perhaps." 
 
 He drew a little nearer. 
 
 "And why sad?" 
 
 She gave a quick sigh and turned from the glories 
 of the night. 
 
 " I have only two more days in Venice. Isn't that 
 reason for being sad?" 
 
 "But why leave Venice?" 
 
 "My husband is leaving." 
 
 He smiled faintly. 
 
 "And is he such a tyrant that you must go where 
 he goes?" 
 
 She laughed involuntarily. 
 
 "A tyrant!" she said. "Oh no. I can scarcely 
 say he is a tyrant." 
 
 "Then why do you go with him?" 
 
 She looked round for a moment, then her eyes 
 returned to the pageant of the sky. 
 
 "Why does one do anything?" she said, suddenly, 
 in a changed voice. 
 
 With a quiet movement Deerehurst leaned forward 
 over the railing and looked into her face. 
 
 "Usually we do things because we must," he said, 
 softly. "But compulsion is not always disagreeable. 
 Sometimes we are compelled to action by our own 
 desires — " 
 
 Clodagh, conscious of his close regard, felt her 
 breath come a little quicker. But she did not change 
 her position ; she did not cease to study the sky. She 
 knew that his arm was all but touching hers; she 
 was sensitive to the faint and costly perfume that 
 emanated from his clothes. But she felt these things 
 
 270
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 vaguely, impersonally, as items in a drama uncon- 
 nected with herself. When his next words came, it 
 was curiosity rather than dread that stirred in her 
 mind. 
 
 " It is my desires that are forcing me to speak 
 now. The desire to see you again after you leave 
 Venice — the desire to see more of you than a mere 
 acquaintance sees — to be something more than a 
 mere friend — " 
 
 Clodagh still looked intently at the stars, but un- 
 consciously her lips parted. 
 
 "Why?" she asked, below her breath. And it 
 seemed to her that the word was not spoken by her 
 but by some one else. 
 
 With an eager gesture Deerehurst extended his 
 hand, and his long, pale fingers closed over her own. 
 
 Then out across the darkness and the silence of the 
 balcony floated the strong, decisive voice of Lady 
 Frances Hope. 
 
 "Lord Deerehurst!" it called. "Lord Deerehurst! 
 So sorry, but Rose wants you to give an expert 
 opinion upon one point in a game of bridge. It 
 won't take two minutes." 
 
 The voice faded away again as its owner moved 
 back into the room. 
 
 At the sound of his name Deerehurst had drawn 
 himself erect. Now, bending forward silently and 
 swiftly, he lifted the hand he was still holding and 
 kissed it vehemently. The next moment he had 
 crossed the balcony and entered the salon. 
 
 Left alone, Clodagh stood motionless. With a 
 vivid physical consciousness she could still feel the 
 pressure of his cold lips upon her hand; but her 
 mental sensations were benumbed. That something 
 had occurred, she dimly realized; that some point — 
 
 271
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 some climax — had been reached, she was vaguely 
 aware. But what its personal bearing upon her own 
 life might be she made no attempt to guess. With 
 a dazed mind she gazed out across the quiet canal, 
 striving to marshal her ideas. 
 
 For several seconds she stood in this state of mental 
 confusion; then, with disconcerting suddenness, a 
 new incident obtruded itself upon her mind. With 
 a violent start she became conscious that some one 
 had passed through the open window and was com- 
 ing towards her, across the balcony. 
 
 She turned sharply. But as she did so her fingers 
 slipped from the iron railing, and all thought of 
 Deerehurst's kiss was banished from her mind. With 
 a sense of acute surprise she recognized the figure 
 of Sir Walter Gore. 
 
 Taking no notice of her dismayed silence he came 
 quietly forward. 
 
 "Good-evening, Mrs. Milbanke," he said. "Have 
 you been enjoying yourself?" 
 
 With a certain vague confusion she met his gaze. 
 
 "Yes," she answered. "I — I suppose so." 
 
 There was a short silence; and Gore, moving to the 
 balcony railing, rested his arm upon it. 
 
 "It is getting late," he said. "Time for us all to 
 be thinking of our hotels." 
 
 Again Clodagh looked at him in faint bewilder- 
 ment. 
 
 "Yes. I — I suppose so," she said once more. 
 
 Another pause succeeded her halting words; then, 
 with a gesture of decision. Gore stood upright, bring- 
 ing his glance back to her face. 
 
 "Mrs. Milbanke," he said, suddenly, "let me take 
 you home! 1 have a gondola waiting at the steps." 
 
 The words were so totally unexpected that Clo- 
 
 272
 
 THE GAMBLHR 
 
 dagh remained mute, and, leaning forward, looked 
 down into the heavy shadows cast by the ancient 
 palace. There was a strange sensation of triumph 
 in this unlooked-for moment, in this sudden capitu- 
 lation of a man who had previously ignored her: a 
 sensation before which all lesser things — Deerehurst's 
 passion, Serracauld's ardor, Barnard's friendship — 
 became meaningless and vague. 
 
 But Gore, guessing nothing from her bent head, 
 glanced behind him towards the salon. 
 
 "Well?" he said. "May I be your escort?" 
 
 Under cover of the dusk Clodagh smiled. 
 
 "Mr. Barnard generally takes me home — " 
 
 Involuntarily Gore's figure stiffened. 
 ■ " — But," she added, in a low, quick whisper, "I— 
 I would very much rather go back with you." 
 
 Under many conditions the words would have 
 seemed bold; but the manner in which she uttered 
 them disarmed criticism. Gore's face relaxed. 
 
 "Then let us make our escape," he said. "Lady 
 Frances is setthng a bridge dispute, and quite a 
 dozen people have slipped away in the last ten 
 minutes. No one will question which of them has 
 taken you home." 
 
 And Clodagh gave a short, light laugh of sudden 
 pleasure. The small conspiracy made Gore so much 
 more human — drew them so much closer together 
 than they had been before. 
 
 "Yes — yes," she said, eagerly. "And I am lunch- 
 ing with Lady Frances to-morrow. I can explain 
 then." 
 
 "Yes. Quite so. Now, if you are ready!" 
 
 He moved to the window. 
 
 Very quietlj' the}'" re-entered the salon, and a flush 
 crossed Clodagh's face as she saw Dccrehurst bcnd- 
 18 273
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 ing over a card-table with the nearest approach to 
 boredom and impatience she had ever known him 
 to evince. Her heart, already beating to the thought 
 of her new conqiiest, gave an added leap at this 
 silent evidence of her power. 
 
 In the corridor outside the salon Gore took her 
 cloak from the servant, and himself wrapped it about 
 her as they descended the stairs; then, passing to the 
 flight of worn steps that led to the water, he signalled 
 to a waiting gondolier, 
 
 "Mrs. Milbanke," he said, as he offered her his 
 hand, "I am going to make a strange request. I 
 want to talk to you for half an hour before taking 
 you home. Will you give me leave to make a tour 
 of the canals?" He spoke very, quietly and in a tone 
 difficult to construe. 
 
 At his curious appeal her heart gave another quick, 
 excited throb, though instinctively she realized that 
 neither Deerehurst, Serracauld, nor Barnard would 
 have proposed a midnight excursion in quite his 
 voice or manner. But the very mode of the request 
 enhanced its charm. She looked up into his face 
 as she laid her hand in his. 
 
 "I give you leave," she said, gently. 
 
 He met her glance, but almost immediately averted 
 his eyes. And as he handed her to the seat he 
 turned swiftly to the gondoUer, addressing him in 
 Italian. 
 
 The colloquy lasted but a few seconds, and at its 
 conclusion the boat shot silently out into the canal. 
 
 "This man does not understand a word of Eng- 
 lish," he said, as he dropped into his place by Clo- 
 dagh's side. 
 
 Again his words were peculiarly suggestive, and 
 again his tone was curiously frank. Why should 
 
 274
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 he suj^gcst that their conversation was unintelHgible ? 
 — and suggest it in so impersonal a tone ? She leaned 
 back in her cushioned seat and let her eyelids droop. 
 Her mind was full of puzzling and delightful thoughts. 
 Never had she tasted the mystery of Venice as she 
 tasted it to-night. Every passing breath of wind, 
 every scent blown from the dark and silent gardens, 
 every distant laugh or broken word was alive with 
 imguessed meanings. The feverish excitement of the 
 past week seemed to fall away. This was romance! 
 — this drifting with an inscrutable companion through 
 an unfathomable night! 
 
 Her eyes closed; she lay almost motionless, filled 
 with an aimless, vague delight. All creation — with 
 all creation's limitless possibilities — lay in the warm 
 darkness that enveloped her. Then, with the in- 
 stinct of senses newly and sharply astir, she became 
 conscious that Gore was watching her. With a 
 thrill of expectancy and anticipation she opened her 
 eyes. 
 
 There is something very curious — something subtle 
 and almost intimate — in the opening of one's eyes 
 upon the steady scrutiny of another. As Clodagh 
 raised her lids her glance encountered Gore's; but on 
 the instant that their eyes met her joy in the mo- 
 ment — her exultant triumph — was suddenly killed. 
 For the look that she surprised was not the look she 
 had anticipated. It was interested; it was atten- 
 tive; it was grave; but it held no subjugation nor pas- 
 sion. As her brain woke to this realization she in- 
 voluntarily raised herself in the luxurious, cushioned 
 seat. 
 
 At the same moment her companion leaned slight- 
 ly forward. 
 
 "Mrs. Milbanke," he said, quickly, "I have been 
 
 275
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 watching you and thinking about you ever since I 
 came to Venice, and at last I have decided that I 
 must tell you what my thoughts have been. *" 
 
 "I am not very old — perhaps I have no right to 
 speak. But a man sees a good deal of life, even if 
 he wants to keep his eyes shut; and I have seen a 
 great many people throw away their chances — take 
 the false and refuse the true. I have seen some men 
 do it, and have seen many women — many, many 
 women." He paused, but did not look at her. "It 
 is a common, e very-day occurrence; so common that 
 one generally looks on at it with indifference. But 
 sometimes — just sometimes — one stops to think. 
 One feels the great, great pity of it." 
 
 He paused again, looking fixedly down at the strip 
 of carpet beneath their feet. 
 
 Clodagh glanced at him — a swift, searching, almost 
 surreptitious look. 
 
 "Mrs. Milbanke, there are times when one stops to 
 think." He raised his head and looked at Clodagh, 
 sitting erect and pale, her large eyes wide open, her 
 hands clasped in her lap. "There are times when it 
 seems cruel — when it seems a sacrilege to see a girl 
 going down the easy road of lost illusions and callous 
 sentiments. I know this sounds incomprehensible — 
 sounds impertinent. But I cannot help myself. I 
 must tell you what no one else will tell you. I must 
 put out my hand." 
 
 He paused, but Clodagh did not speak. 
 
 "You are very young. You are very high-spirited. 
 You — you are very attractive. And the world is full 
 of people ready — ^waiting — to take advantage of your 
 youth, your high spirits, your attractiveness. You 
 are not fit for this society — for this set that you have 
 drifted into — " 
 
 276
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "This set? Isn't it your own set?" At last Clo- 
 das:h's lips parted. 
 
 He made an impatient gesture. 
 
 "A man has many sets." 
 
 Her pale face flushed suddenly. 
 
 "I don't think I understand," she said. 
 
 " No. But I am trying to make you understand. 
 I am not disparaging Lady Frances Hope — or her 
 social standing. She is a charming woman, a clever 
 woman, but she is a woman of to-day. Her pleas- 
 ures, her ambitions, her friends — " 
 
 Clodagh lifted her head. 
 
 "Her friends?" she said, faintly. 
 
 "Are not the friends for you — for any inexperi- 
 enced girl. Take them one by one. There is Serra- 
 cauld — indolent, worthless, vicious; Barnard — decent 
 enough as a man's friend, and as honest as his clients 
 permit him to be, but no proper guide for a girl like 
 you; Deerehurst — " 
 
 But Clodagh checked him. 
 
 "Lord Deerehurst? What about Lord Deere- 
 hurst?" Her voice was high and strained. 
 
 Gore made a gesture of contempt. 
 
 "Deerehurst — " he began, hotly; then suddenly 
 his tone changed. 
 
 "Mrs. Milbanke," he said, earnestly, "whatever 
 you may say, whatever you may do, I cannot believe 
 that in your heart you are in sympathy with these 
 people, whose one object in life is to gamble — to 
 gamble with honor, money, emotion — anything, every- 
 thing with the savor of risk and the possibility of gain. 
 
 "You have no justification for belonging to these 
 people. You have the good things of life, the thing 
 many women are forced to steal — position, a home, 
 a good husband — " 
 
 277
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 At the last word Clodagh started violently. And 
 with a quick, impulsive movement Gore turned to 
 her afresh. 
 
 " You are intoxicated with life — or what seems to 
 you to be life. You are forgetting realities. I have 
 seen your husband. He is an honest, simple, trust- 
 worthy man — who loves you." 
 
 The tone of his voice came to Clodagh with great 
 distinctness. It seemed the only living thing in a 
 world that had suddenly become dead. While she 
 had been sitting rigid and erect in the stern of the 
 gondola everything had altered to her mental vision 
 — everything had undergone a fundamental change. 
 The purple twilight ; the mysterious night scents ; the 
 breezes blown in from the lagoon had become in- 
 tangible, meaningless things. She was conscious of 
 nothing but Gore's clear words, of her own soul 
 stripped of its self-deception. At last, with a faint 
 movement, she turned towards him. 
 
 "Take me home," she said, in a numbed voice. 
 "I wish to go home." 
 
 At the words he wheeled round in sudden protest. 
 But as his eyes rested on her cold face a tinge of self- 
 consciousness chilled his zeal — self-consciousness and 
 the suddenly remembered fact that his action was, 
 after all, unjustifiable. His own figure suddenly 
 stiffened. 
 
 "As you wish, of course," he said, quietly. "I 
 suppose my conduct seems quite unpardonable." 
 
 For one fleeting second an impulse — a desire — 
 crossed Clodagh's face; but as it trembled on the brink 
 of utterance Gore leaned forward in his seat and gave 
 a quick, imperative order to the gondolier. A mo- 
 ment later they had glided up a narrow waterway 
 and emerged again upon the Grand Canal. 
 
 278
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 From the door and windows of Clodagh's hotel 
 a stream of Hght was still pouring out upon the 
 water. As they drew level with the terrace she 
 turned her face away from this searching radiance, 
 and rose quickly to her feet. 
 
 "Good-night," she said, in an almost inarticulate 
 voice. "Good-night. Don't stir. Don't help me." 
 
 But Gore had risen also. And in a sudden return 
 of his earlier, more impulsive manner he forgot the 
 self-consciousness that had chilled him. 
 
 "Mrs. Milbanke — " he said, quickly. 
 
 But Clodagh evaded his eyes, and with a sharp, 
 nervous movement shook her head. 
 
 "No," she said. "No. Don't help me. I don't 
 want help." 
 
 Stepping past him with an agile movement, she 
 ran up the steps and across the terrace to the door 
 of the hotel. 
 
 Obeying a dominant impulse. Gore turned to fol- 
 low her. But as his foot touched the side of the 
 boat he paused, drew slowly back, and dropped into 
 his former seat. 
 
 With almost breathless haste Clodagh ran up the 
 silent staircase of the hotel, and, entering her own 
 room, turned on the light; then, walking straight to 
 the dressing-table, she paused and stared into the 
 mirror at her own reflection. 
 
 The sight of that reflection was not reassuring. 
 Her face looked colorless, as only olive-tinted skin 
 can look; her wide eyes with their narrowed pupils 
 seemed almost yellow in their intense clearness: while 
 her whole air, her whole appearance, was frightened, 
 tired, pained. As she looked a nervous panic seized 
 her, and she turned her gaze away. 
 
 270
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 With freedom to look elsewhere, her eyes roved 
 over the dressing - table and suddenly fixed them- 
 selves upon a large, square envelope bearing her 
 name, which stood propped against a scent-bottle. 
 
 In nervous haste she picked it up and looked at 
 it uncomprehendingly. It was unusually large and 
 thick, and addressed in an unfamiliar hand. With 
 the same unstrung haste she turned it about between 
 her fingers, halting with new apprehension as she 
 saw that its flap bore an elaborate black coronet and 
 monogram. 
 
 At last, with a strange sense of apprehension, she 
 tore the envelope open. 
 
 " Circe," the letter began. " I will not reproach you for 
 deserting me. Life is too brief for reproaches — when one 
 longs to fill it with pleasanter things. But be kind to me. 
 Give me the opportunity of finishing that broken sentence. 
 I shall smoke a cigar on the terrace at eleven to-night. If 
 you are generous, wrap yourself up and keep me company for 
 ten minutes. I shall wait — and hope. Deerehurst." 
 
 She read to the end, and stood for a space staring 
 at the large, straggling writing; at last, as if suddenly 
 imbued with the power of action, she tore the let- 
 ter across, tearing and rctearing it into little strips. 
 Then, throwing the fragments on the ground, she 
 turned and fled out of the room. 
 
 Milbanke's bedroom was on the same floor as her 
 own, though separated from it by half the length 
 of the corridor. Leaving her own apartment, she 
 hurried towards it, and, pausing outside the door, 
 knocked softly and insistently. A delay followed 
 her imperative summons; then Milbanke's voice 
 came faint and nervous, demanding the intruder's 
 name. 
 
 280
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 She answered; aiul a moment later the door was 
 opened with a confused sound of shooting bolts. 
 
 Milbanke's appearance was slightly grotesque, as 
 the opened door disclosed him, silhouetted against the 
 lighted room. He was garbed in a loose dressing- 
 gown, his scanty hair was disarranged, and there was 
 an expression of alarm on his puckered face. But 
 for once Clodagh was blind to these things. With a 
 swift movement she entered the room, and, closing 
 the door, stood leaning against it. 
 
 "James," she said, breathlessly, "you finished 
 vour business with Mr. Barnard to-day, didn't 
 you r 
 
 Milbanke, suddenly conscious of her white face, 
 began to stammer. 
 
 "Clodagh! My dear — my dear." 
 
 But Clodagh waved his anxiety aside. 
 
 "Tell me," she said. "It's finished, isn't it?" 
 
 "Yes — yes. But, my dear — " 
 
 She threw out her hands in a sudden, vehement 
 gesture. 
 
 "Then take me away!" she cried. "Take me 
 away! Let us go in the morning, by the very first 
 train — before any one is up." 
 
 Milbanke paled. 
 
 "But, my dear," he said, helplessly, "I thought — 
 I believed — " 
 
 Clodagh turned to him again. 
 
 "So did I!" she cried. "So did I! I thought I 
 loved it. I thought I loved it all — the music and 
 the gayety and — and the people. But I don't. I 
 hate it! I hate it! I hate it!" 
 
 In a strangled sob her voice gave way, and with 
 it her strength and her self-control. She took a 
 few steps forward; then, like a mechanical figure in 
 
 281
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 which the mechanism has suddenly been suspended, 
 she stopped, swayed a Httle, and, dropping into the 
 nearest chair, broke into a flood of tears — such tears 
 as had shaken her five years ago when she drove out 
 of Carrigmore on the day of her wedding.
 
 XXIX 
 
 THE penetrating Florentine sunshine was envelop- 
 ing the villa that stood upon the hill above San 
 Domenico; but it was not the full, warm sunshine of 
 late April, that had opened the roses in the gardens 
 and deepened the shadows of the cypress-trees nearly 
 two years earlier, when Clodagh had dreamed of 
 her visit to Venice. It was the cool sunlight of 
 February, and it fell across the polished floors, 
 and threw into prominence the many antique and 
 curious objects that filled the rooms, with a search- 
 ing clearness that almost seemed like a human 
 scrutiny. 
 
 In a small salon that opened upon the terrace, 
 Clodagh sat at a bureau. In front of her was a for- 
 midable array of letters and business papers, neatly 
 bound into packets by elastic bands, and under her 
 hand was spread a sheet of unused, black-bordered 
 note-paper. 
 
 Whether it was the multitude of her own thoughts 
 that retarded the task she had in hand, or a certain 
 air of absolute stillness that seemed to brood over 
 the villa, one could not say ; but certain it is that for 
 nearly half an hour she sat in an attitude of abstrac- 
 tion, her fingers poised above the note-paper, the tip 
 of her pen-holder held against her lips. 
 
 At last, however, a new idea seemed born in her 
 mind, for she laid down the pen, rose suddenly to her 
 
 283
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 feet, and, moving across the room, paused beside the 
 window. 
 
 For a long, silent space she stood at this closed 
 window, her gaze wandering over the scene that cus- 
 tom had rendered extraordinarily familiar— the hill- 
 side, cut into characteristic tiers of earth, until it 
 sloped downward almost like a flight of steps, from 
 which the gray ohve-trees and the black cypresses 
 rose sharply defined in the brilliant atmosphere; at 
 its foot Florence, with its suggestion of dark-roofed 
 houses and clustering spires; and beyond all, encir- 
 cling all, the low chain of mountains blue and purple 
 in the sun. Then, quite suddenly, with a swift, im- 
 pulsive movement, she unfastened the latch and 
 threw the window open. 
 
 In the added radiance that poured into the room 
 she stood more distinctly revealed, and the sHght 
 changes that even two years can make became visible 
 in her face and figure. The pose of her body and the 
 carriage of her head were precisely as they had been, 
 but her cheeks were a little thinner, and some of her 
 brilliant coloring was gone; but the fact that would 
 most speedily have appealed to one who had not seen 
 her for the two years was the circumstance that she 
 wore deep mourning — a mourning that lent an un- 
 famiHar, almost a fragile, air to her whole appearance. 
 That would have been the first impression; and then, 
 as one studied her more closely, it would have been 
 borne in upon one that these were mere outward 
 signs — that the true, the real alteration lay not in 
 dress, not in the thinness of her face, not in the un- 
 wonted pallor of her skin, but in the very curious 
 expression with which she gazed out over the dis- 
 tant hills, the look of kinship, of comprehension, 
 of that illusive, subtle sentiment that we call an- 
 
 284
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 ticipation, with which her eyes met the far-off sky- 
 line. 
 
 For many moments she stood as if fascinated bv 
 the sense of promise that breathed and vibrated in the 
 spring air; then at last, with a quickly taken breath, 
 she turned away from the open window, and, recross- 
 ing the room, seated herself again at the bureau, 
 picked up her pen, and with new inspiration began to 
 write. 
 
 "Larry, dear Cousin, — I, the worst correspondent 
 in all the world, am going to write you a long letter 
 — because my heart is so full of thoughts that I must 
 unburden it to some one who will listen. Who bet- 
 ter than my friend — my brother — of the old, dear, 
 dear days? 
 
 "It was good of you and Aunt Fan to write me 
 those two long, affectionate letters; and I needed 
 them. For though there was no horror in James's 
 death, death itself is — and always must be — terrible 
 to me. Terrible, but also very, very wonderful! 
 Wonderful beyond words, when one realizes that 
 somebody one has known as good and kind and un- 
 selfish — but ordinary, Larry, ordinary as one's self — is 
 suddenly transformed into something infinitely wise 
 and mysterious, with a mystery we can only think 
 about and fear. 
 
 "One month ago James was in his usual health, 
 going about his little daily tasks, losing himself in 
 his little daily interests. And now he understands 
 the million things that puzzle you and me and the 
 rest of the world of living people. 
 
 "His death — as I told you in my first short note — 
 was painless and quiet, and unselfish like his life. 
 He held my hand and knew me to the very end, and 
 
 285
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 spoke to me quite lucidly of his affairs half an hour 
 before he died. And, Larry, I think he was happy! 
 You cannot imagine what it is to be able to say that! 
 Death brings so many regrets. It frightens me when 
 I look back now over the years and think of our 
 marriage. It was so terribly, cruelly unwise. A 
 man of his age, a girl of mine! And, knowing what I 
 know now, the first years must have been very bitter 
 for him. Since then things have been better — and 
 worse. Two years ago we were perilously near dis- 
 aster — he and I — when something — it does not mat- 
 ter what — saved us both. 
 
 "How sincerely I thank God now that it was so. 
 At the time I suffered terribly; but it was good for 
 me. It made me see that duty is not merely a 
 negative thing. And now it is all over — all over, 
 like a dream that is past. I am as I was. I am free! 
 
 "I seem heartless to say that. I could not say it 
 to any one except you — or Nance. And I even won- 
 der if Nance could quite understand. I feel that she 
 must be so very much younger than myself. But 
 you will not misunderstand, Larry, will you? You 
 will see that it isn't want of heart, but just the knowl- 
 edge that there is a future. A future for tne, who 
 had ceased to believe in one! 
 
 "Just before I began this letter, I stood for a long 
 time at an open window, looking out over Florence, 
 lying below me in the wonderful sunshine that comes 
 to Italy in the spring, and quite suddenly, Larry, I 
 thought of England in May. England in May! It 
 seems to suggest a hundred thousand things. Don't 
 say I am disloyal. For, of course, T want to go home 
 to Orristown ; but not just yet — not just yet. I feel 
 — I cannot quite explain it to you — just a little 
 afraid of going back to Ireland. Just at the moment 
 
 286
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 it is too full of memories. But 1 want to see England. 
 I want to live in England. 
 
 " Yes, I shall live in England — for the present at 
 least. And you and Aunt Fan must come and stay 
 with me; and then you will report on your steward- 
 ship. For, of course, you are still to manage Orris- 
 town — as well and capable as you have managed it 
 during the last three years. I always think it was 
 one of James's kindest actions to me to give that 
 management to you, though I shall always regret 
 that you and Aunt Fan will not make use of that big, 
 empty house. But what is the good of talking! The 
 Asshlins are all disgustingly proud. 
 
 " I can see you smile as you read this, and perhaps 
 I can hear you say, 'How like Clo!' I hope— oh, 
 Larry, I hope I can! 
 
 "Give them all my love — Hannah, Biirke, the dogs, 
 and Polly. Dear, pretty Polly! How I crave some- 
 times for just one long, wild gallop! She must be 
 eight years old by now; and yet she looks as fit as 
 ever — you said so in your letter of a month ago. 
 Dear, pretty Polly! 
 
 "I can do very much as I like now, Larry, in every 
 way. James has been more than generous. I am 
 to have the interest on sixty thousand pounds, al- 
 though I may not touch the capital. A wise pre- 
 caution. Was there ever an Asshlin who could keep 
 money! But, as it is, I shall be rich. Two thousand 
 a year! Why, it is wealth. And then again there is 
 another thing in which James has been good to us. 
 He has placed a thousand pounds to my credit, apart 
 from my own money, which I am to give to Nance on 
 her twenty -first birthday, or on her engagement, 
 should she marry with my consent before she be- 
 comes of age. Was it not a kindly, thoughtful act? 
 
 2S7
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 But does it not seem incredible to talk about Nance 
 — little Nance — being of an age when she might think 
 of marrying? I often long to see her — and some- 
 times I feel ridiculously shy and a little bit afraid. It 
 is so strange that we have never in all these years 
 visited England, and that some plan of poor James's 
 should always have prevented her spending her holi- 
 days with us, though, so far as that goes, Carrigmore 
 was a more homelike place than Italy to spend them in. 
 
 "What is she really like? You say she has grown 
 very pretty, but you never say more than that. Men 
 don't realize how women crave for details. But I 
 shall see her for myself in a few weeks. She leaves 
 school next month, you know, and will join me at 
 once. Before James's death she had been asked on 
 a visit to America by the mother of a school friend of 
 hers — a girl named Estcoit, who is leaving school on 
 the same day as Nance. But now that is all changed. 
 She writes begging me to let her come to me directly ; 
 and her letter has made me feel that, beneath all the 
 silly feelings of shyness and uncertainty, I too want 
 her. 
 
 " So now I have said all. Now you see me as I am, 
 Larry, more the old Clodagh than I have been for 
 years. The Clodagh who remembers and loves you 
 always as her dear cousin — her dear, dear brother." 
 
 The letter ended unconventionally, without a signa- 
 ture; but the writing of the last lines was strong and 
 bold, with a vigorous upward curve. 
 
 With a touch of impetuosity, Clodagh picked uj) 
 an envelope and addressed it to Laurence Asshlin, at 
 Orristown; then, rising from the bureau, she rang a 
 bell. 
 
 An Italian man-servant responded to the summons, 
 
 288
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 the same man-servant who had waited at breakfast, 
 on the morning that Milbanke had received Barnard's 
 summons to Venice. Entering the room with sym- 
 pathetic deference, he paused just inside the door. 
 
 "Signora!" he murmured. 
 
 Clodagh turned to him, the black-edged envelope 
 in her hand. 
 
 "Tell Simonetta to bring me my hat and cloak," 
 she said. "I'm going down into Florence — to post a 
 letter." And without waiting to see what expression 
 her declaration brought to the man's face, she crossed 
 the room and stood once more in the flood of clear, 
 cool sunlight that poured through the open window, 
 19
 
 XXX 
 
 EXACTLY one week later Clodagh arrived in 
 Paris on her way to England. Simonetta Otto- 
 lenghi, an Italian woman who had been in her ser- 
 vice as maid for nearly four years, was her only com- 
 panion ; there was no friend to meet or welcome her in 
 the unfamiliar city, and even the dog Mick, the com- 
 panion of so many solitary hours, had been left be- 
 hind in Florence until she could conveniently send 
 for him; yet, incongruous as it may sound, her feel- 
 ings were happy — her mind was free from loneliness 
 as her train steamed into the crowded railway station, 
 and she found herself free to drive to her hotel. After 
 all, life undeniably stretched before her, and there 
 was no prohibition against letting her eyes dwell upon 
 the vistas it opened up. 
 
 Knowledge of duty done — be the doing ever so 
 tardy — is the best stimulus for the wayfarer in the 
 world's byways; and Clodagh, as she stepped from 
 her train on that February afternoon, was conscious 
 of some such reassuring certainty. 
 
 In the last two years life for her had been a thing 
 of physical inaction accompanied by a subtle proc- 
 ess of mental development. The night of tempestu- 
 ous excitement — when, in a whirl of pain, chagrin, 
 and passionate self-contempt, she had repudiated 
 Venice and her newly made friends — had been the 
 birth of a fresh phase in her existence. With all 
 
 290
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 the ardor, all the enthusiasm whereof her vivid 
 nature was capable, she had veered from her former 
 point of view to another almost as extreme. The 
 return to Florence, the taking up of existence in the 
 secluded villa, had been like the incidents of a dream; 
 then, in the days that had succeeded — in the early 
 mornings or the late evenings — as she sat upon the 
 marble rim of the drowsy fountain in the garden, 
 gazed down from Fiesole upon the sleeping Roman 
 amphitheatre, or knelt in a dim recess of the old 
 church of San Domenico, rendered mystical by the 
 smell of incense and the flicker of wax tapers, the 
 dream had shaped itself. It had become a tapestry 
 into the pictures of which many figures were woven, 
 but where only two took place and prominence — her 
 own and one other. 
 
 For in those silent hours the thought of Gore — the 
 remembrance of Gore — had come back to her as 
 tangible things. In that solitude peopled by im- 
 agination she had forgotten the hurt vanity, the bit- 
 ter disappointment that had clothed her last inter- 
 view with him, and remembered only that, seeing fit 
 to reprove her, he had dared to do so — that, seeing 
 the brink upon which she had stood, he had put out 
 his hand to draw her back. 
 
 And, standing in this new light, Gore became an 
 ideal, a being apart, endowed with endless power to 
 inspire high deeds. An idealist born, Clodagh was 
 created to make-believe. The make-believes were 
 probably exaggerated, the swaying of an impulsive 
 mind from one emotional pole to the other; but in 
 this case, at least, benefit accrued. She developed a 
 sudden gentle tolerance of Milbanke — an altogether 
 unprecedented care for his comfort and well-being. 
 
 The working of this profoundly subtle emotion was 
 
 291
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 far too deep to be even guessed at by herself. And 
 had any student of human nature told her that the 
 new tenderness for the timid, unassuming husband, 
 who made so few demands upon her consideration, 
 arose from the fact that another man had crossed 
 her life — rousing at once her imagination, her an- 
 tagonism, and her admiration; showing her new 
 depths in the world around her, new possibiHties 
 within herself — she would have been both incredu- 
 lous and indignant. 
 
 But no student of human nature visited the villa. 
 And she lived on imdisturbed in her atmosphere of 
 dreams. Whether the vague, subconscious thought 
 that Gore, away in his own world, might hear of her 
 graver attitude towards Hfe and might secretly ap- 
 prove, ever lent zest to her self-imposed duties it 
 would have been impossible to say; but certain it 
 is that if the thought came it came unbidden and 
 stayed unrecognized. 
 
 And now Milbanke was dead. And life — not the 
 mythical life of memories, of dreams, even of ideals, 
 but the life of hope and warm human possibilities — 
 was hers, as it had been long ago, before her hus- 
 band's name had ever met her ears. 
 
 Her mind was at peace as she drove through the 
 narrow streets of Paris, with their cheerful character- 
 istic chorus of shouting news-venders, cracking whips, 
 and laughing, chattering people. 
 
 The hotel she had chosen was a small one, close to 
 the Place Vendome; and when her fiacre stopped 
 and she entered the vestibule her sense of pleasure 
 and contentment increased. The quiet air of the 
 place contrasted agreeably with her previous ex- 
 perience of hotel life. 
 
 Still conscious of this impression of security, she 
 
 292
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 turned away from the bureau where she had registered 
 her name and crossed the vestibule to the lift. Tak- 
 ing her place on the velvet-covered seat, she watched 
 the attendant close the iron doors and turn to set the 
 lift in motion. But at the moment that he laid his 
 hand upon the button she saw the big, swinging 
 doors of the hotel open to admit a lady. 
 
 The new-comer, seeing that the lift was about to 
 ascend, hurried towards it; and Clodagh, idly inter- 
 ested by the sound of rustling silk, leaned forward in 
 her seat. But the light in the vestibule was dim, and 
 she caught nothing beyond the outline of a large hat 
 and the suggestion of a pale-green dress. Then, sud- 
 denly, the stranger spoke, and her heart gave a 
 tremendous leap. 
 
 "Wait!" she called, in French. "Wait! I am com- 
 ing!" 
 
 It needed but the five words, spoken in a clear, 
 dictatorial voice, to assure Clodagh that the speaker 
 was known to her; and as the attendant paused in 
 his task, and, turning promptly, opened the grilled 
 door, her mind was prepared for the vision of Lady 
 Frances Hope. 
 
 But if she was prepared for the encounter, the new- 
 comer was taken completely by surprise. Entering 
 the lift, she glanced casually at its other occupant; 
 then her whole face changed. 
 
 "It is— It can't be! It is Mrs. Milbanke!" 
 Her glance passed rapidly over Clodagh's deep mourn- 
 ing and her expression altered in accordance. "My 
 dear Mrs. Milbanke," she said, softly, "how thought- 
 less of me not to realize at once! I heard through 
 Mr. Barnard. How are you? How arc you?" 
 
 She pressed the hand Ciodagh had offered her, and 
 looked sympathetically into her face. Then, as the 
 
 293
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 lift, gliding upward, stopped at the first floor and 
 Clodagh rose, her expression changed again. 
 
 "Are you located on this floor ? How delightful! 
 We are neighbors. I am number five. What are 
 you?" 
 
 "Seven," Clodagh said, gently, speaking for the 
 first time. There was something very strange to her 
 in this meeting — something not altogether unpleas- 
 ant. In the two years since they had met — and in 
 the light of her last evening in Venice — the image of 
 Lady Frances Hope had become slightly distorted. 
 And there was a sense of surprise, of reassurance, in 
 finding her so kindly, so gracious, so unalarming. 
 
 "Seven!" Lady Frances repeated. "Delightful! 
 You must dine with me to-night. I have a private 
 room and am quite alone. It will be an act of 
 charity. I am on my way south. By - the - way, 
 where are you bound for?" 
 
 Clodagh smiled. 
 
 " I am going home." 
 
 "Home?" 
 
 "To England." 
 
 "England! My dear child, not England in Feb- 
 ruary? Why, the atmosphere is a combination of 
 fog and sleet; and the people — " She made a gesture 
 of horror. "Why, everybody who hasn't influenza 
 is either expecting it or shaking it off." 
 
 Clodagh laughed a little. 
 
 " I have never had influenza. It will be an ex- 
 perience. But I must look after my maid. Trav- 
 elling is new to her." 
 
 She glanced down the corridor to where Simonetta 
 was awaiting her beside a mountain of luggage. 
 
 Lady Frances made haste to echo her laugh. 
 
 "Well, well!" she said. "It's good to have the 
 
 294
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 enthusiasm of youth. But you will dine with me? 
 Dinner in an hour." 
 
 Clodagh hesitated. Yesterday she would have 
 ardently avoided a meeting with Lady Frances Hope. 
 Now that it had been thrust upon her it seemed to 
 possess no danger. What was it Gore had said on 
 that memorable night ? "I am not depreciating Lady 
 Frances Hope's social standing — " Very swiftly she 
 recalled the words and construed them in the light 
 of her present feelings. After all, she was not the 
 child she had been two years ago. And it was not 
 Lady Frances, but the set that surrounded her, to 
 which Gore took exception. 
 
 Her companion, seeirtg the hesitation in her eyes, 
 gave a quick, bright smile. 
 
 "Do come! I will give you news of — every one." 
 
 Clodagh colored slightly. 
 
 "Very well," she said. "In an hour. Thank you 
 very much." 
 
 And with an agreeable, unfamiliar sense of inter- 
 est and excitement, she turned and passed down the 
 corridor to where Simonetta stood. 
 
 Before opening her own door, Lady Frances Hope 
 stood for a few seconds watching the retreating figure ; 
 then, apparently without reason, she frowned, drew 
 her lips together, and, pushing her door hastily open, 
 passed out of sight. 
 
 Still imbued with the sense of contentment, Clo- 
 dagh changed her heavy black travelling - dress for 
 one of lighter texture, allowed Simonetta to rearrange 
 her hair, and, at the appointed hour, presented her- 
 self at Lady Frances Hope's door. 
 
 Lady Frances had also discarded her elaborate 
 costume for something lighter and more comfortable, 
 
 295
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 and was already ensconced on a low divan, reading a 
 French novel, when her guest was announced. Im- 
 mediately Clodagh's name reached her she threw the 
 book aside, and rose with great cordiality. 
 
 "How sweet you look!" she exclaimed. "You 
 are the first dark woman I've ever liked in black. 
 But then, of course, you are not exactly dark. Sit 
 down. Dinner will be served in a moment. How did 
 you know of this place? Have you stayed here be- 
 fore?" 
 
 Clodagh had come forward and seated herself be- 
 side her hostess. Now, as she looked about her, she 
 noticed with a feeling of restfulness that the room was 
 pretty and homelike, and that there were flowers on 
 the tables and soft, yellow shades on the electric lamps. 
 
 "No; I have never been here before. Mr. Barnard 
 gave the address to my — my husband when we were 
 in Venice, and I came across it among his papers 
 after — after — " She hesitated. 
 
 Lady Frances leaned forward sympathetically. 
 
 "Poor child!" she murmured. "Don't talk of it! 
 You have had a most trying time. Barny told me 
 all about it only a week ago. But this place is really 
 quite good," she added, in a cheerful voice; "better 
 now than ever. They have just secured the chef 
 from the Abbati Restaurant in Venice. But, of 
 course, you knew Abbati's." 
 
 Her quick glance passed over Clodagh's face. Then 
 she rose and moved to the table, as two waiters en- 
 tered, and dinner was announced. 
 
 Clodagh colored, and crossed the room in her host- 
 ess's wake. 
 
 "Yes," she said, taking her seat at the table — 
 "yes; I once dined there. It was a wonderfully fas- 
 cinating place. Has it been a failure?" 
 
 296
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Lady Frances shruj^'gcd her shoulders. 
 
 "Vanished. But tell mc about yourself!" She 
 turned to her guest with a change of manner. "You 
 are not seriously contemplating England at this time 
 of year?" 
 
 Clodagh smiled calmly. 
 
 "Quite seriously." 
 
 "But, my dear child, why? if one may be inquisi- 
 tive." 
 
 "Because I want to know England — to know the 
 English." 
 
 Lady Frances's eyes narrowed very slightly; then 
 she gave one of her bright laughs. 
 
 "Then come back with me to the Riviera! Any 
 English people worth studying will be found there. 
 Change your plans! Come back with me!" 
 
 Clodagh looked up. She was uncertain whether 
 the suggestion had been made in jest or earnest, and 
 the smiling, searching glance of her hostess did not 
 enlighten her. With a slight feeling of embarrass- 
 ment she broke off abruptly into another channel of 
 talk. 
 
 "And how is Mr. Barnard?" she asked. 
 
 "Barny? Oh, optimistic as ever!" 
 
 "Then there is one amusing person left in Eng- 
 land!" 
 
 Lady Frances laughed. 
 
 "Only temporarily. He takes his holiday next 
 month. Last March he joined the Luards and me 
 in Naples, and we all went on to Sicily. It was 
 tremendous fun." 
 
 She laughed again over some recollection, and en- 
 tered upon a history of her Sicilian adventures that 
 occupied the rest of dinner. 
 
 At the termination of the meal, however, when the 
 
 297
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 waiters had brought in coffee and silently retired, she 
 dropped her reminiscent tone, and, rising from table, 
 moved back to the divan, which was drawn pleasant- 
 ly near to a bright wood fire. 
 
 "Come here and let's be comfortable," she said. 
 " I always have a cigarette after dinner. I forget 
 whether you smoke." 
 
 Clodagh smiled as she came slowly forward. 
 
 "Not since my cousin and I used to smoke in the 
 top branches of an apple-tree in Ireland. I should 
 be afraid to try the experiment again ; I might lose 
 an illusion. No other cigarettes could taste like those 
 stolen ones!" 
 
 She gave a little sigh, then a little laugh, and 
 seated herself. 
 
 Lady Frances looked up from the cigarette she was 
 drawing from her case. 
 
 "Illusions!" she said. "Why, life is all illusions 
 at your age!" She paused, then after a moment's 
 silence went on again, but in a slower, more con- 
 sidered voice: "You thought I was jesting at dinner, 
 when I asked you to come south with me. But I 
 wasn't. I meant it." She struck a match and light- 
 ed her cigarette. "You don't know how you would 
 enjoy Nice. You lost yourself in the delights of 
 roulette at Venice. Think what Monte Carlo would 
 be!" 
 
 With a sudden tumultuous confusion, Clodagh 
 flushed. 
 
 "I — I have ceased to care about things like that," 
 she said, in a hurried voice. 
 
 Lady Frances's expression changed to one of deep 
 interest sharpened by surprise. 
 
 "Ceased to care?" she repeated, softly. "Since 
 when ? And why ?" 
 
 298
 
 "'come HEKIC ANM) let's be COMKOR TAHI.IC
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Since" — Clodagh hesitated — "oh, sinee that time 
 in Venice." 
 
 Her hostess flicked the ash from her cigarette. 
 
 "Some new influence?" 
 
 Clodagh was taken unawares. 
 
 "I — I have got to know myself better since that 
 time in Venice," she said, below her breath. "Some 
 one — something — has made me see that it was not my 
 true self that showed then. I was foolish in those 
 days. I was carried away." 
 
 A very faint smile flitted across Lady Frances's 
 lips. 
 
 "That idea belongs to the some one else ?" she said, 
 in a quiet, cordial tone that invited confidence. 
 
 Moved by a sudden impulse, Clodagh leaned for- 
 ward in her seat and clasped her hands. As on the 
 day in Florence — the day when she had written her 
 letter to Laurence Asshlin — her soul thirsted for con- 
 fession. After two long years of silent thought the 
 temptation to open her heart in speech was over- 
 mastering. The room was comfortable, dimly lighted, 
 almost homelike; the hour was propitious; her host- 
 ess's voice was extraordinarily kind. She stole one 
 half-shy, half-eager glance at the averted face. 
 
 "Lady Frances," she said, suddenly, "I was very 
 childish, very foolish that time in Venice. I knew 
 it even before I — before I left." 
 
 With extreme tact Lady Frances refrained from 
 looking at her. Smoking quietly, she made her next 
 remark in a low, reassuring voice. 
 
 "Then that was why you left so suddenly?" 
 
 "That was why." 
 
 "Walter Gore must have been very eloquent!" 
 
 Lady Frances spoke in the same even tone; but, 
 as she felt the thrill of surprise with which Clodagh 
 
 299
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 received her words, she turned quickly and decisively 
 and met her startled eyes. 
 
 "I always knew that Walter Gore went back with 
 you to your hotel on that last night," she said. "I 
 always knew that he read you a very moral lecture." 
 
 Clodagh drew a quick breath. 
 
 "But how did you know?" 
 
 Lady Frances studied her face for a moment; then 
 she gave a direct answer to the question put to her. 
 
 "Walter himself told me," she said. 
 
 After she had spoken there was a silence in the 
 room. On her part it was the silence of the experi- 
 menter who has taken a step in a new direction and 
 is waiting for results; on Clodagh's it was the silence 
 of incredulity, of doubt, of dread. That Gore should 
 have spoken of that last night in Venice to any third 
 person was a circumstance that, at very least, needed 
 explanation. She sat breathlessly waiting that ex- 
 planation. 
 
 During the moment of fruitful silence Lady 
 Frances Hope remained very still, fingering her 
 cigarette, drawing in fitful puffs of smoke, avoiding 
 with elaborate carelessness any observation of her 
 companion's manner. 
 
 Then, as if some psychological crisis for which she 
 was waiting had been achieved, she altered her posi- 
 tion and her expression, and, turning, laid her hand 
 upon Clodagh's. 
 
 "Dear Mrs. Milbanke," she said, "I am glad all 
 this has happened; I am glad we have met. You 
 are at a moment in your life when you need a friend 
 — a friend who understands—" 
 
 Her fingers tightened upon Clodagh's in a warm, 
 sympathetic pressure. 
 
 " You are young ; you are free ; you have the whole 
 
 300
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 world at your feet. Don't spoil your life by taking 
 it too seriously. 
 
 "When I was your age, or only a little older than 
 you, I was left a widow — as you have been left; but 
 I was unlike you in one particular — I had a very wise 
 and far-seeing mother to help me with her advice. 
 Do you know what her advice was ?" 
 
 Clodagh sat silent. 
 
 "It was comprised in one sentence. 'Avoid scan- 
 dal, but fly from sentiment!' Do you see all the 
 wisdom in that advice to a woman who has just be- 
 come her own mistress?" 
 
 Still Clodagh was silent, filled by a sense of uncer- 
 tainty, of loneliness, of fear. She waited for Lady 
 Frances's explanation with the numb sense of help- 
 lessness that is bom of ignorance. 
 
 "Of course I may be wrong," the strong, reliant 
 voice went on; "but I feel you are in need of just 
 such counsel. You are emotional; you are an ideal- 
 ist; you are coming out into life expecting it to be a 
 fairy-tale — and it is not a fairy-tale. It is a realistic 
 story — sometimes a long one, sometimes a short one, 
 but always realistic. Take my advice. Make the 
 best of it as it is. Don't break your heart because 
 there are no dragons or castles or princes." 
 
 She paused at last; and at last Clodagh spoke. 
 
 "You are very kind — very good. But I don't see 
 what it all has to do with me." 
 
 With a frank, almost an affectionate gesture. Lady 
 Frances took both her hands, and, looking into her 
 face, spoke the words for which she had so carefully 
 prepared the way. 
 
 "If what I am going to say hurts you, you must 
 forgive me. I feel such centuries older than you that 
 I can risk a great deal Don't spoil your life, don't 
 
 .^oi
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 throw away your pleasure, because of one moral 
 lecture. It isn't worth while. I know what I am 
 saying. People like Walter Gore are reprehensible. 
 They take themselves so seriously that sometimes 
 other people make the mistake of taking them serious- 
 ly too; and then things go wrong." 
 
 Clodagh's face became a shade paler. 
 
 "I — I am stupid," she said, faintly. "I don't 
 seem to understand." 
 
 "My dear! It is so hard to say it bluntly." 
 
 "Please say it bluntly." 
 
 For an instant the older woman hesitated before 
 the coldness of Clodagh's tone; but the next she took 
 the opening offered her. 
 
 "You are deliberately turning away from the best 
 in life because some one, in a moment of enthusiasm, 
 preached you a sermon. You make the mistake of 
 thinking that Walter Gore did something unusual 
 when he warned you against cards and roulette — 
 against Lord Deerehurst and Val Serracauld and me 
 — whereas, Walter was bom to preach." 
 
 Clodagh's lips parted. Lady Frances had justified 
 herself. Gore had spoken of that last interview. 
 But why ? And how ? 
 
 "Lady Frances," she said, very quietly, "why did 
 Sir Walter Gore tell you all these things?" 
 
 Lady Frances freed the hands she had continued 
 to hold. 
 
 "Oh, we are old friends. He tells me many things. 
 I fought more than one battle for you while you were 
 in Venice — and afterwards." 
 
 " For me ? After I left Venice ?" 
 
 "Oh, many battles. Walter is so extreme in his 
 judgments of men and things. I lose patience with 
 him sometimes." 
 
 302
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "And what was Sir Walter Gore's judgment of me 
 —after I left Venice?" 
 
 Lady Frances gave a little deprecating laugh. 
 
 "Would that be quite fair?" 
 
 "Yes, I think so, if I wish to know." 
 
 The older woman took a fresh cigarette from the 
 case beside her. 
 
 "And you won't be offended?" 
 
 "I won't be offended." Clodagh's voice sounded 
 a little dry. 
 
 "Well, then — oh, really, it's very stupid! Per- 
 haps I'd better not." 
 
 Clodagh rose quietly from the divan and walked to 
 the mantel-piece. 
 
 "Please tell me," she said. 
 
 At her tone her hostess ceased to dally. She 
 struck a match and raised the cigarette to her lips. 
 
 "Well," she said, with another little apologetic 
 laugh. "I think Walter has always imagined you 
 a very pretty, very fascinating — little fool!" 
 
 There was another silence — very short but very 
 tense. Lady Frances laid down her cigarette un- 
 lightcd and blew out the match. 
 
 "Mrs. Milbanke, you don't mind?" 
 
 Clodagh laughed — suddenly and almost loudly. 
 
 "Mind! Mind! Why should I mind?" 
 
 Had her denial been a shade less intense its steadi- 
 ness might have deceived her companion ; as it was, 
 the faintest flickering smile touched her lips, as she 
 also rose and came slowly forward. 
 
 "My dear child!" she murmured, reproachfully. 
 "My dear child, you have misunderstood. I never 
 implied that Walter interested you personally; I 
 merely used him as an illustration — as a means of 
 conveying the folly of taking serious people seriously. 
 
 303
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 But you are tired. I have been cruelly unreason- 
 able. I shall send you straight to bed. You are 
 fagged after that long journey." 
 
 She put out her hand and laid it on Clodagh's arm; 
 but Clodagh was not in a mood to be caressed. 
 
 ''It's all right," she said, abruptly. "I suppose 
 we both misunderstood. I am a little tired. I think 
 I will say good-night." 
 
 "Good-night, dear child!" Lady Frances pressed 
 her hand, and walked with her slowly across the 
 room. As she passed out into the corridor she waved 
 a gay farewell. "Sleep well!" she called. "But 
 dream of an English February — and wake with a 
 changed mind!" 
 
 As she said the last words Clodagh paused for a 
 moment, then went on again without speaking, and 
 entered her own room. 
 
 Tired though she was, Clodagh scarcely slept that 
 night, and in the early hours of the morning she saw 
 the bright dawn break over Paris. At eight o'clock 
 she rang for Simonetta, and asked for ink, pen, and 
 note-paper. Sitting up in bed, she wrote the follow- 
 ing note: 
 
 "Dear Lady Frances, — As we are both women, I can 
 hope that you won't call me variable. If you still want me 
 as a companion, I think I will, after all, go with you to Nice. 
 Looking into the matter more closely, I find I really have no 
 affinity for sleet or influenza. 
 
 "Yours, Clodagh Milbanke." 
 
 Having despatched the note to Lady Frances 
 Hope, she wrote two long, feverishly hasty letters — 
 one to Laurence Asshlin, at Orristown, the other to 
 Nance, at her school near London. 
 
 304
 
 XXXI 
 
 IT was in the middle of February that Clodagh 
 arrived in Paris on her journey home; and it was 
 the end of April before that ardently planned return 
 to England at last took place. 
 
 On a fresh, showery April afternoon, when all Lon- 
 don looked renewed and beautiful by soft air and fit- 
 ful, brilliant sunshine, she alighted from the train at 
 Charing Cross. 
 
 Her arrival in the lofty, unfamiliar station was very 
 different from her arrival at the bustling, exciting 
 Parisian terminus two months earlier. Then she had 
 descended from her train with the rapidity of one who 
 sees in the least promising object the hope — if not the 
 certainty — of interest; now she left her carriage with 
 the quiet indifference to outward circumstance that 
 acquaintance with society teaches. Unconsciously 
 she had learned to move as women of the world move 
 — the women who know themselves possessed of a 
 certain value, and are faintly flattered, faintly amused, 
 perhaps faintly wearied by the knowledge. 
 
 As she walked down the platform a momentary 
 glimmering of disappointment crossed her face; and 
 she turned to Simonctta, who had come hurr\'ing 
 towards her. 
 
 "I thought Lady Frances would have met us," she 
 said. " But I suppose she is waiting at the flat." 
 
 Simonetta looked up solicitously at her mistress, 
 ao 305
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "And the signora?" she hazarded. "She is not 
 tired?" 
 
 Clodagh smiled a little absently. 
 
 "Oh no, Simonetta! You must not trouble about 
 me. I have come home, you know." She gave a 
 little laugh. "But we must not delay," she added. 
 "Have you the keys of all the boxes?" 
 
 "Yes, signora." 
 
 "Then you can see to the examining of the lug- 
 gage. When it is done this porter will put you in a 
 cab. I have given him the address." 
 
 "Yes, signora." 
 
 "Then I shall see you at the flat?" 
 
 "Yes, signora." 
 
 Clodagh smiled again, and, turning away from 
 Simonetta, wended her way through the crowd of 
 passengers surrounded by eager relatives and friends. 
 
 Reaching the court-yard of the station, she unos- 
 tentatiously hailed a hansom, and, having given her 
 new address to the cabman, took her seat. A mo- 
 ment later the cab swung out into London ; became 
 one with the concourse of traffic that, in the season, 
 seems to overflow the streets. For the instant Clo- 
 dagh felt herself merged in the teeming life which the 
 open doors of the vehicle permitted to approach so 
 nearly; for the instant she stifled the sense of isola- 
 tion that had been slowly gathering force, and with 
 a fierce effort thrust it from her. And, leaning for- 
 ward in her seat, she fixed her attention upon the 
 passing scene. 
 
 Across Trafalgar Square, up Waterloo Place, and 
 into the traffic of Piccadilly, she was borne with ex- 
 hilarating speed, the cabman avoiding with extreme 
 dexterity the throng of carriages, motor-cars, and 
 omnibuses that seemed momentarily to increase. To 
 
 306
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Clodagh, sitting rigidly attentive, the scene appeared 
 like an impressive pageant — a pageant of magnificent 
 wealth and abundant prosperity. A splendid, char- 
 acteristic picture, in which the budding English trees, 
 the imposing English clubs, the gorgeous English 
 equipages, and the beautiful English women made up 
 the background and the central figures. It was the 
 great procession of a life she had seen only in im- 
 agination ; and as her curious eyes drank in its details 
 she found herself almost mechanically repeating in 
 her mind the formula to which for the past two 
 months she had clung with passionate persistence. 
 
 "I will live! I will enjoy!" 
 
 For the two months this had been her philosophy. 
 Unconsciously, it had been her philosophy since the 
 night in Paris when, in one hour, her castle of im- 
 agination had fallen about her feet, and she had 
 stood, as it were, houseless. In that brief space of 
 time she had realized that she had been inhabiting a 
 fool's paradise. A fool's paradise! The name had 
 seemed curiously apt; and through the long, dark 
 hours of that hateful night her cheeks had burned as 
 she recalled how she had peopled her enchanted 
 realm, while all the time its unconscious creator had 
 forgotten its creation — or remembered it only as one 
 self-righteous act among many. Lady Frances Hope 
 was right! Dcerehurst had been right! Barnard 
 had been right! Ideals were a mistake — things made 
 to be shattered, as hopes were made to be broken! 
 To live — to live fully, heedlessly, extravagantly was 
 the only wisdom. Gore had spoken truly! She had 
 been a fool. She had been wrong in supposing that 
 she had a debt to work off; on the contrary, life was 
 her debtor. It was she who had a score against life! 
 
 In this fever of mind she had written the letters 
 
 307
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 that sent Nance on her interrupted journey to Ameri- 
 ca; cancelled her invitation to her aunt and cousin to 
 stay with her in England ; and set her own feet on the 
 road to the south. And in the weeks that followed 
 the same fever had burned in her blood. During the 
 preparations for the Riviera and during the journey 
 to Nice she had been possessed by a frenzy of energy. 
 She had craved for incessant action and excitement 
 with a pertinacity that had seemed insatiable. 
 
 And in the crowded Casino at Monte Carlo she had 
 at last attained her object — she had at last succeeded 
 in losing herself; there, day after day, night after 
 night, she had sat in the stifling, scented atmosphere, 
 listening to the incessant, significant click of gold and 
 silver, watching the artificial light glaring down upon 
 the hideously artificial faces pressed in densely packed 
 circles round the long green tables. The place had 
 fascinated her with its outward immobility, its hid- 
 den sea of greedy passion. It was, she had fiercely 
 told herself, life! 
 
 After six weeks Lady Frances Hope had announced 
 her intention of returning home. But Clodagh had 
 implored her to postpone her departure for another 
 week, and, when she had laughingly declared the 
 delay impossible, had announced her own determina- 
 tion to remain on alone — a determination which no 
 argument of her companion's had been powerful 
 enough to alter. 
 
 And now, after nearly eight weeks spent between 
 Monte Carlo and Nice, she was returning to take up 
 her residence in a London flat chosen for her by Lady 
 Frances Hope. 
 
 Her brain felt feverishly active as the cab, having 
 skirted the park railings from Hyde Park Corner to 
 Knightsbridge, turned into the square court-yard be- 
 
 308
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 longing to the large, quiet building where she was to 
 find her home. 
 
 Descending quickly from the cab, she entered the 
 big doorway and glanced curiously at her new sur- 
 roundings. The vestibule was imposing, but a httle 
 lonely. And although the hall porter came almost 
 immediately to her assistance, and listened attentive- 
 ly to the information that she was the new tenant of 
 the second-floor flat, and that her maid and her lug- 
 gage were following in another cab, his impersonal 
 air daunted her. She was annoyed — and almost 
 frightened — by the sudden, poignant desire that as- 
 sailed her to see even one familiar face. 
 
 However, she listened in her own turn to the polite 
 assurance that all was in readiness for her arrival; 
 and in due course she passed sedately to the lift and 
 was borne upward. 
 
 As she stepped out upon the richly carpeted pas- 
 sage that led to her own door, she looked round in 
 the half-formed expectation that Lady Frances Hope 
 might be waiting her outside her own rooms; but al- 
 most at once she dismissed the idea. English peo- 
 ple were not demonstrative! She would find Lady 
 Frances waiting for her beside a cosey tea-table — or a 
 bright fire! With the haste of anticipation she crossed 
 the corridor, and pressed the bell of her hall-door. 
 
 There was a slight delay before the summons was 
 answered ; then the door was opened by a well-dressed, 
 unemotional-looking maid. 
 
 Clodagh stepped forward. 
 
 "I am Mrs. Milbanke — your mistress," she said, 
 quickly. 
 
 The woman looked at her with curiosity. 
 
 "Will you kindly walk in, madam?" she said. "I 
 hope you will find everything in order." 
 
 309
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 A chill — a chill that painfully suggested home-sick- 
 ness — fell upon Clodagh; but she thrust it resentfully 
 aside and entered the pretty, panelled hall of the fiat. 
 
 "Where is Lady Frances Hope?" she asked, paus- 
 ing just inside the threshold. 
 
 The maid came forward respectfully, but without 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 "Her ladyship has not been here to-day, madam. 
 Can I attend to you, madam, until your maid ar- 
 rives?" 
 
 Clodagh stood very still. She was conscious of a 
 horrible, inordinate disappointment; but aware that 
 the servant's eyes were still upon her, she rallied her 
 self-control. 
 
 "Thanks!" she said. "I sha'n't want anything but 
 a cup of tea. Bring me some tea to my own room. 
 Did Lady Frances Hope leave no message?" 
 
 "No message, madam." 
 
 The maid hesitated for an instant longer, then, 
 feeling herself dismissed, moved noiselessly away to 
 the servants' quarters. 
 
 Left alone, Clodagh stood irresolute. This was her 
 house — her home ! Her eyes wandered round the 
 hall, from the walls of which the pictures of the former 
 tenant looked down as though they criticised the in- 
 truder. This was her home-coming! A home-com- 
 ing devoid of one friendly hand, one welcoming word. 
 Unable to quell the passion of loneliness that swelled 
 within her, she turned blindly and opened the door 
 that stood nearest to her. 
 
 It was the dining-room that she had chanced upon 
 — a charming, white - panelled room furnished in 
 Sheraton style. But in her present mood its grace- 
 ful severity failed to please her; to her lonely gaze it 
 had an uninhabited look — it seemed almost to re- 
 
 310
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 semble a very perfect room upon the stage. Draw- 
 inj^ back hastily, she closed the door, and, moving 
 down the hall, entered another room. 
 
 This proved to be her own bedroom — a bright, 
 high -ceiled apartment decorated and furnished in 
 old French fashion, and possessing two large windows 
 looking upon Hyde Park. But here again she was 
 confronted by the sensation of unfamiliarity. And 
 as she paused just inside the door, looking from the 
 long windows to the stately bed, she was suddenly 
 and completely dominated by her feelings. In a 
 tempestuous wave of emotion her hunger for happi- 
 ness rose menacingly, while the tide of her philosophy 
 suddenly ebbed. In that moment, as she stood alone 
 in the wide room, she swayed between trust in her 
 own heart and faith in the world's healing power. 
 Then , as has so frequently happened , the world snatch- 
 ed the laurels before they had been held out. 
 
 With the same unmoved demeanor the maid who 
 had admitted her appeared at the door. 
 
 "If you please, madam, the housemaid tells me 
 that her ladyship did send a note for you this morn- 
 ing. You'll find it on the dressing-table." 
 
 At the woman's words Clodagh started, and her 
 whole face colored and changed. Hurrying across 
 the room, she saw the letter, picked it up, and tore 
 it open. She read: 
 
 "Dearest Clodagh, — T must seem a perfect beast. But 
 my old aunt Deborah — with whom I can't aflford to quarrel! 
 — has announced her stupid intention of spendins^ a day in 
 town. And of course it must be this day of all days. Do 
 be a darlinj^, and show you forj^ve me by coming round to 
 dine at eii^jht-thirty. Lord Deerehurst returned yesterday 
 from the famous two-months rest-cure, l<K)kinj^ younfjer than 
 ever. He and Val will be here to-nicrht. Bridge after din- 
 ner. Don't fail to come. Yours, F. H." 
 
 311
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 As Clodagh read the last line of the letter she lifted 
 her head, and turned with a quick gesture to the 
 maid who was waiting by the door. 
 
 "I want a fire lighted here, and my tea brought to 
 me immediately it is ready," she cried, in a changed 
 voice. "And send my maid in directly she arrives. 
 I'm dining out." 
 
 Without waiting for a reply, she crossed the room 
 and paused beside one of the windows looking down 
 upon the park. Her spirits had risen ; her excite- 
 ment had been rekindled; she had been saved from 
 the one companionship she had learned to dread — 
 companionship with herself.
 
 XXXII 
 
 L\DY FRANCES HOPE'S house was situated in 
 f Curzon Street, and thither Clodagh departed 
 shortly after eight o'clock. 
 
 Again she chose a hansom as a means of convey- 
 ance, for as yet there had been no question of her 
 procuring a carriage of her own ; and again she be- 
 came conscious of the peculiar stimulus, the peculiar 
 power that the great tide of London life exercises 
 upon its observers. The last glimmering of daylight 
 was lingering in the sky as the cab passed up Knights- 
 bridge, but already the houses and hotels were brill- 
 iantly lighted, and the stream of diners and theatre- 
 goers was forming into its nightly procession. 
 
 During that short drive she encountered many 
 glances — glances of interest, criticism, or curiosity 
 from women well-dressed as herself and bound upon 
 some such mission as her own — glances of sharp 
 speculation or sudden ailmiration from men dri\ing 
 west or southward. And something of London's 
 immensity, something of London's secrecy came to 
 her in those brief moments; she was stirred by the 
 fact that has moved many another dweller in the 
 vast city — the fact that every day, every night, some 
 thousands of lives brush our own in a passing glance, 
 in a stray word, in a chance touch, and then drift on 
 into mystery never to reappear. 
 
 Her thoughts were confused and excited as she 
 
 313
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 descended from the cab and entered the Curzon 
 Street house; but on the moment that she stepped 
 into the hall her dreams were banished. A door on 
 her right opened, and her hostess hurried forward and 
 kissed her effusively. 
 
 "You dear thing!" she cried. "Wasn't it abom- 
 inable of me? Was the arrival desperately dreary? 
 Come up to my bedroom. The men haven't come 
 yet. What ages it seems since we said good-bye at 
 Nice! How are you?" She talked on in her master- 
 ful voice, without waiting for a reply, until they en- 
 tered the bedroom. There her maid, who was busy- 
 ing herself at the dressing-table, came forward to 
 assist Clodagh, but she checked her at once. 
 
 " Mrs. Milbanke won't need you, Rees. I'll take 
 off her cloak." 
 
 Rees moved obediently towards the door; but there 
 she ventured to pause for a moment. 
 
 "I hope you had a comfortable journey, madam," 
 she said. 
 
 Clodagh, invariably gracious to her inferiors, turn- 
 ed to her warmly. 
 
 "Thank you, Rees! An excellent journey! But 
 I'm glad to have arrived — and I'm glad to see every- 
 body look so well." She added the last with a little 
 smile, to which the maid responded as she closed the 
 door. 
 
 Lady Frances laughed. 
 
 "You have bewitched Rees," she said. "But you 
 do that as you eat or sleep — by instinct. Let me 
 look at you!" She laid her hands on Clodagh's 
 shoulders and turned her towards the light. 
 
 "You've been playing every night since I left you," 
 she said, with decision. 
 
 Clodagh laughed with some constraint. 
 
 314
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "And losing?" 
 
 Clodagh flushed. 
 
 "I have no luck," she said, shortly. Then, almost 
 at once, she turned away, freeing herself from her 
 companion's detaining hands. 
 
 "Lady Frances," she said, in a different tone, 
 "please don't think I forget about — about — " She 
 hesitated. "I get my first allowance at the begin- 
 ning of June, you know." 
 
 She paused, and Lady Frances gave a seemingly 
 careless laugh. "My good child, don't speak of it! 
 Any time! Any time!" 
 
 "You are very kind. I had hoped to settle up on 
 my return, but the last week was shocking. But 
 everything will be right at the beginning of June. 
 She walked over to the dressing-table and looked at 
 herself in the long glass. 
 
 "What a sweet house you have!" she said, sud- 
 denly, in an entirely different voice. 
 
 Lady Francis had been watching her with a close 
 scrutiny ; but now, with a good deal of ready dissimu- 
 lation, she threw off her attentive manner and an- 
 swered in her own light tone. 
 
 "Yes; it is a nice little place. But what about the 
 flat? Isn't that perfect?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " You arc not enthusiastic ? Oh, I am disappointed!" 
 
 Clodagh turned from the mirror. 
 
 "Forgive me!" she said, impulsively. "Of course 
 the flat is perfectly sweet — and exactly what I want 
 — and an astonishing bargain for seven himdred a 
 year. It was just the arriving alone that made it 
 seem a little — a little — " 
 
 "Of course! Of course! Poor, dear child! But 
 wait! Wait till you begin to know people!" 
 
 315
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Clodagli's expressive face brightened. 
 
 "Yes. And when Nance — when my sister comes 
 back! Oh! I must enjov myself! I must be hap- 
 py!" 
 
 "Why should you be anything else? When have 
 you heard from your sister?" 
 
 "The day I left Nice — a most dear letter. She is 
 having a heavenly time in America. The Estcoits are 
 such delightful companions; the girl is seven months 
 younger than she is, and the boy is seven years older. 
 Curious difference, isn't it?" 
 
 "Very. But I didn't know there was a boy. I 
 thought it was only the school friend and the mother." 
 
 " Oh no! There's the brother — Pierce. Nance's 
 letter's are full of him." 
 
 Lady Frances gave a little, half-sarcastic laugh. 
 
 "Then Nance is presumably still learning — though 
 she has left school?" 
 
 Something in the utterance of the words made 
 Clodagh flush. 
 
 "Don't!" she said, involuntarily. "Don't! Nance 
 is — is different from me." 
 
 Then, as her hostess remained silent, she turned 
 and looked at her. 
 
 "Don't be offended!" she added. "It is only that 
 I can't have anything cynical said of Nance. I know 
 you don't understand. It seems that because I sent 
 her to America I don't really care — " She halted again. 
 "But I don't make you understand! I don't seem 
 to make any one understand." Her voice dropped 
 slightly, and Lady Frances, as though fearing some 
 emotional outburst, broke in, hastily: 
 
 "My dear child! My dear Clodagh!" Then she 
 paused, for the door opened and her maid, Rces, re- 
 appeared. 
 
 316
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Excuse me, my lady, but Lord Dccrchurst and 
 Mr. Scrraeauld are in the drawing-room. Franks 
 thought your ladyship would wish to know." 
 
 "Quite right. Thank you, Rees. Clodagh, are 
 you ready ?" 
 
 Clodagh's face was slightly flushed from her mo- 
 mentary outbreak as she left the bedroom, her mind 
 slightly distressed. Descending the stairs, Lady 
 Frances moved to her side and passed her hand 
 through her arm; and at the touch a sharp repulsion 
 to this friendship — this fair-weather, effusive, super- 
 ficial friendship — surged through her. And yet 
 where was she to find a firmer sentiment? Where, 
 in all the world, was there a being who had any real 
 need of her ? Her aunt ? Her cousin ? She knew 
 instinctively that their world and her own were in- 
 evitably sundered. Nance? Had not even Nance — 
 the little Nance of childish days — already begun to 
 gather interests of her own — to form her own friend- 
 ships? No; there was no niche that especially claim- 
 ed, that especially needed her. 
 
 At this point in her hasty and confused specula- 
 tions the door of the drawing-room was thrown open, 
 and after an interval of two years she saw Lord 
 Deerehurst and Serracauld. 
 
 More than once she had pictured the meeting with 
 the old peer; but, as is invariably the case, the reality 
 was much more vivid than the imagination had been. 
 Deerehurst came forward with the stiff, courtly man- 
 ner that brought back with almost painful clearness 
 the balcony of the Venetian palace — the Venetian 
 salon with its polished floor and glittering chandeliers 
 — the Venetian night-music borne across the waters. 
 It all surged back in a wave of memory — first a pang 
 of pain, then a pang of reckless self-contempt. After 
 
 317
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 all, who cared? What did her action, her manner 
 of living — even her existence — matter to any living 
 soul ? She held out her hand and allowed him to 
 bow over it. 
 
 He bowed over it for long ; then he raised his head 
 and looked at her. His pale, inscrutable face was as 
 waxlike as ever; his eyes were as cold, as penetrating, 
 as old in their look of supreme wisdom. 
 
 "So we meet again," he said. "My hope has been 
 fulfilled!" 
 
 For a moment Clodagh stood, permitting him to 
 clasp her fingers and look into her face, while she her- 
 self made no effort to speak; then, as if suddenly con- 
 scious of something strange in the position, she freed 
 her hand with a little, nervous laugh, and turned to 
 where Serracauld was waiting to greet her. 
 
 With a smile and a gesture of easy familiarity the 
 younger man came forward. 
 
 "Welcome to England!" he said. "Only yester- 
 day a man at my club was telling me of the prettiest 
 woman on the Riviera this year. I won't be personal, 
 but the lady was at Monte Carlo only a week ago — 
 turning other people's heads and emptying her own 
 pockets with the most delightful impartiality." 
 
 Clodagh laughed, but this time without embarrass- 
 ment. 
 
 "Be as personal as you like," she said, carelessly. 
 " It wasn't my fault if luck was dead against me." 
 
 Deerehurst came forward slowly. 
 
 "But the turned heads?" he asked. 
 
 She smiled. 
 
 "Was it my business to put them straight again? 
 I'm not a surgeon." 
 
 They all laughed; and at that moment dinn/sr was 
 announced. 
 
 318
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Lady Frances Hope touched Clodagh's arm. 
 
 "Lord Deerchurst will play host, Clodagh. Val, I 
 consign myself to you." 
 
 Serracauld moved to her side with his usual in- 
 dolent ease, and Deerehurst offered Clodagh his 
 arm. 
 
 They had to traverse the length of a large double 
 drawing-room before the dining-room was reached. 
 And during that passage Deerehurst found oppor- 
 tunity for a whispered word or two. As they moved 
 forward he avoided looking at Clodagh; but his arm 
 slightly and unmistakably pressed hers. 
 
 "Am I not forgiving, to be so glad to sec you?" he 
 murmured, in his thin, cold voice. "I waited on the 
 terrace until twelve o'clock, that night at Venice." 
 
 Involuntarily Clodagh's face flushed. Deerehurst's 
 voice was as potent as ever to express infinitely more 
 than the words it uttered. 
 
 "I — I wish to forget Venice," she said. 
 
 He stole a swift glance at her. 
 
 "Then shall we make a compact? Shall we forget 
 it jointly ?" 
 
 She said nothing. 
 
 Again, almost imperceptibly, his arm pressed hers. 
 
 "Why try to ignore me? I am in your life." 
 
 The words were few and very simple; so simple 
 and so few that they conveyed a peculiar impression 
 of power — of weight. 
 
 A faint, half-comprehended chill fell upon Clodagh ; 
 such a chill as had fallen upon her once before in the 
 restaurant at Venice, when Deerehurst had drunk to 
 their next meeting as host and guest. 
 
 She laughed suddenly, with a quick, nervous lift- 
 ing of the head. 
 
 "But it is life itself I wisli to ignore." 
 
 319
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Again he glanced at her, very swiftly, very search- 
 ingly. 
 
 "So be it!" he said. " I take that as a challenge — 
 to life and to me." 
 
 At the conclusion of dinner that night the httle 
 party of four sat down to bridge. And an hour after 
 midnight Clodagh rose from the card-table a loser 
 to the extent of over forty pounds.
 
 XXXIII 
 
 ON a certain morning in the last week in June, 
 Lady Frances Hope rode into the court-yard of 
 the Knightsbridge flats. Throwing her bridle to the 
 man-servant who was attending her, she dismounted 
 from her horse, gathered up her habit, and entered 
 the doorway of the building. 
 
 Seating herself in the lift, she was borne upward, 
 and a few seconds later stepped out upon the second 
 floor, and, going briskly forward, pressed the bell of 
 Clodagh's hall-door. 
 
 The summons was answered by the same maid who 
 had admitted Clodagh on the day of her arrival, and, 
 seeing the visitor, she drew back instantly, throwing 
 the door wide. 
 
 "Is Mrs. Milbanke up, Barkes?" Lady Frances 
 asked. " I did not see her in the park this morning." 
 
 "Mrs. Milbanke didn't ride this morning, my lady. 
 She is having breakfast in her own room. Shall I 
 say your ladyship is here?" 
 
 Lady Frances replied by walking into the hall. 
 
 "No, thanks. I'll announce myself." 
 
 Stepping forward without ceremony, she passed 
 down the hall and opened the door of Clodagh's bed- 
 room. But on the threshold she paused, interested 
 by what she saw. 
 
 The two windows that looked upon the park were 
 wide open, and through them the beautiful, warm sun- 
 
 21 321
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 shine was pouring across the room, touching the old 
 French furniture into a renewal of its glories. Drawn 
 into the full radiance of this mellow light stood a 
 small, round table set with silver, china, and a bowl 
 of flowers ; and at this table sat Clodagh herself. She 
 was wearing a simple dress of black muslin, and her 
 hair — which gleamed almost bronze in the clear, strong 
 light — was twisted into one thick coil. But it was 
 neither her dress nor appearance that attracted her 
 visitor; it was something vaguely disturbing — some- 
 thing subtly suggestive — in her attitude, as she sat 
 close to the table, an array of letters and papers 
 spread before her, a gold pencil held thoughtfully 
 against her lips. 
 
 Thinking it was a servant who had entered the 
 room, she did not change her position with the open- 
 ing of the door, and Lady Frances Hope had a full 
 minute in which to observe her; then, having made 
 her deductions, she allowed her presence to be known. 
 
 "Can you tolerate such an early visitor?" she 
 asked. 
 
 Clodagh started almost guiltily, and drew the array 
 of papers into a confused heap; then she rose hastily, 
 laughing to cover her momentary confusion. 
 
 "How you frightened me!" she said. "I must be 
 developing nerves. But come in! I am delighted!" 
 
 She went forward with apparent cordiality, and, 
 taking her visitor's hand, kissed her. 
 
 " How nice and energetic you look! You make me 
 feel very lazy. I wasn't in the mood for a ride this 
 morning. Come in! Sit down!" 
 
 Lady Frances responded to the suggestion by 
 moving across the room. Pausing by the breakfast- 
 table, she bent forward and buried her face for a 
 moment in the flowers, at the same time stealing a 
 
 322
 
 IAN Vor mi KkATK Sl'lll AN 1:AKI,\ SIMlDk.' SIIK ASKi:ii
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 swift glance at the scattered letters beside Clodagh's 
 plate. Then, straightening herself again with ap- 
 parent nonchalance, she moved to the open window 
 and stood looking down upon the park. 
 
 "Clodagh!" she said, suddenly. "Are you busy? 
 Can we talk?" 
 
 Clodagh turned sharply, and almost with a gesture 
 of surprise. The whole round of her intercourse with 
 Lady Frances Hope had been of so easy, of so super- 
 ficial a nature — the whole tone of their friendship 
 had been pitched in so unemotional a key, since the 
 line night in the Paris hotel where they had touched 
 upon things vital to them both — that the suggestion 
 of reality, or even gravity, brought a sudden un- 
 easiness to her mind. 
 
 "Oh, of course!" she said, uncertainly. "Of 
 course! Let us sit down." 
 
 She returned to her own seat and indicated an- 
 other to her visitor, with a slightly hurried move- 
 ment. 
 
 But Lady Frances did not respond to the invitation. 
 Instead, she wandered back to the table and again 
 bent over the bowl of lilac. 
 
 "Why arc wc always climbing — only to slip back 
 again?" she asked, irrelevantly. 
 
 Again a faint uneasiness touched Clodagh's face. 
 
 "1 thought you enjoyed climbing." 
 
 "Not to-day. Clodagh, you'll think me a horrid 
 nuisance, but it's about that money — " 
 
 She paused as she said the word, and involuntarily 
 her quick glance passed once more over the papers on 
 the table. 
 
 For a second CU)ilagh remained silent; then she 
 spoke, a little slowly, a little haltingly. 
 
 "Oh yes — the money," she said. 
 
 323
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Lady Frances looked at her shrewdly. 
 
 "Yes, you remember on Tuesday — when you bor- 
 rowed that sixty pounds to pay old Lady Shrawle — ■ 
 I said I could wait for everything till August." 
 
 "Yes. Oh yes." 
 
 "Well, I've had a horrid drop since then — yester- 
 day, in fact." 
 
 For a moment longer Clodagh sat staring aimlessly 
 at the papers in front of her; then she raised her head 
 and looked at her companion. Her face was a little 
 pale, but her eyes and lips looked almost scornfully 
 unconcerned. 
 
 "Poor you!" she said, easily. "What a bore! 
 You must let me settle up our differences at once — 
 to-day." 
 
 She rose and pushed back her chair. 
 
 A look of surprise crossed the older woman's face 
 — this time it was surprise tempered with bewilder- 
 ment. 
 
 "To-day! But can you? I know how many little 
 expenses — " She waved her hand expressively tow- 
 ards the breakfast-table, with its many costly ad- 
 juncts. 
 
 Clodagh made a lofty gesture of denial, and, walk- 
 ing across the room, paused beside her bureau. 
 
 For a minute there was no sound in the room save 
 the abrupt opening and shutting of one or two small 
 drawers; then Clodagh turned round again, a check- 
 book in her hand. 
 
 "Now tell me what I owe you," she said. "I'll 
 write you a check and post - date it to July 
 ist. Will that do? I draw my money then, you 
 know." 
 
 "Perfectly. But, my dear Clodagh — " 
 
 But again Clodagh made a gesture that seemed to 
 
 324
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 relegate the matter to a rej^ion of oljscurc, if not of 
 absolutely contemptible, things. 
 
 " Don't trouble," she said. " Money is never worth 
 an argument. What do I owe?" 
 
 During her words her companion had sat silent — 
 speculative and suspicious. To her worldly mind 
 Clodagh's grand manner, Clodagh's extraordinary be- 
 havior, indicated but one possibility. She had found 
 means of augmenting her income. 
 
 Any knowledge of the false pride, the empty mag- 
 nificence that will, metaphorically speaking, fling its 
 last coin to a beggar, while passing on to penury, had 
 never come within her experience. It needs the en- 
 vironments of such paces as Orristown to bring them 
 to maturity. She looked now at her companion, and 
 her eyes narrowed in a sudden, triumphant satisfac- 
 tion. Something that she had anticipated had come 
 to pass. At the imagined discovery she gave a quick 
 laugh. 
 
 "If you insist on being so scrupulous — " 
 
 Clodagh looked round from the bureau at which 
 she had seated herself. 
 
 "How much?" she said, laconically. 
 
 Lady Frances pretended to knit her brows. 
 
 "Well, there was the eight hundred pounds at 
 Nice, and the forty pounds the night of your return 
 to town — the night we played bridge with Val and 
 Lord Deerehurst — " She looked very quickly at 
 Clodagh. 
 
 But Clodagh gave no sign. "And the fifty pounds 
 a fortnight ago, besides the sixty for Lady Shrawle," 
 she interrupted. 
 
 "Yes. Oh yes! Let me see, that makes — " 
 
 "Nine hundred and fifty pounds," Clodagh inter- 
 jected, in a very quiet voice, and. picking up a pen, 
 
 325
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 she wrote out the check, signing it with her usual 
 bold signature. A moment later she rose, blotted it, 
 and held it out to Lady Frances Hope. 
 
 As the flimsy slip of paper passed from one to the 
 other the elder woman permitted a gleam of her 
 curiosity to show in her eyes. 
 
 "A thousand thanks," she exclaimed. "And 
 don't think me a wretch if I run away now that I've 
 got it. You know how fidgety my bay mare is. 
 Well, good-bye. I shall see you at Raiielagh?" 
 
 But Clodagh was absently studying her check- 
 book. 
 
 "I don't think so," she said. "Lord Deerehurst 
 offered to take me down, but I sha'n't go. I — I have 
 some business to attend to." 
 
 Lady Frances laughed, picked up her riding-whip 
 which she had laid aside, and, coming forward, kissed 
 Clodagh. 
 
 "Then I expect I shall see you. Deerehurst is 
 much more insistent than any business." Once again 
 her shrewd glance travelled over Clodagh's face. 
 "Good-bye. In any case, you'll be at the Ords' for 
 bridge to-night? We can arrange then about going 
 down to Tuffnell." 
 
 "Yes." Clodagh returned the pressure of her 
 hand. "Yes; I suppose I shall go to the Ords'. 
 Yes; I shall — good-bye." 
 
 She walked with her visitor to the door of the bed- 
 room, and stood waiting on the threshold until the 
 hall -door had closed. Then, almost mechanically, 
 she turned, walked back to the table, and with a 
 sharp, nervous movement gathered up the heaj) of 
 papers still lying beside her plate. 
 
 As she stood there, in the flood of June sunshine, 
 beside the attractive disarray of the pretty break- 
 
 326
 
 THE GAMBLHR 
 
 fast-table, she was aware of a horrible sense of help- 
 lessness, of alarm and impotence. For the papers 
 she held between lur hands were bills— a sheaf of 
 bills — all unpaid and all j)ressing. 
 
 As she stood there a swift review of the [)ast months 
 sped before her mind, carrying something like dis- 
 may in its train. 
 
 In April she had entered upon the tenancy of her 
 furnished fiat, having already borrowed eight hun- 
 dred poimds from her friend and counsellor Lady 
 Frances Hope, and under the auspices of this same 
 counsellor had begun her career as a woman of fashion. 
 
 In social circles the period and the conditions of 
 mourning become more slender every season. And 
 nowadays, although a widow may not attend dances 
 or large dinner-parties, there are a hundred smaller, 
 more exclusive — and possibly more expensive — forms 
 of entertainment at which she may appear in her own 
 intimate set. Very quiet dinners, very small lunch- 
 eon - parties, even friendly bridge - parties, are quite 
 permissible, when it is a tacitly accepted fact that 
 the mourner is, by a natural law, barely entering upon 
 her life, that the one mourned has departed from it 
 by an equally natural dispensation. 
 
 Under these conditions Clodagh had begun her 
 London career, and for more than a month she had 
 lived in the most costly sen§e of the word. Her 
 mourning had been the most distinguished that a 
 famous dressmaker could devise ; her electric brough- 
 am had possessed all the newest improvements; the 
 flowers that fillcil her room had been supplied by a 
 fashionable florist at an exorbitant cost. In a word, 
 she had behaved like a child who has been given a 
 pocketful of bright new pennies and believes them to 
 be golden coins. 
 
 327
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Once or twice in the course of those extravagant 
 weeks a pang of misgiving had crossed her soul, but 
 it had only been a pang of the moment. 
 
 The phantom of tradesmen's bihs is one so easily- 
 dismissed from the Irish mind that, unless it material- 
 izes very forcibly, it may almost be considered non- 
 existent. 
 
 On July ist she was to receive her half-yearly 
 allowance, and towards July ist she looked with 
 an almost superstitious confidence. A thousand 
 pounds! It was sufficient to settle a plane tful of 
 debts ; and if any remained as satelhtes to the planet 
 — well, there was January ist. 
 
 But now her confidence had been rudely shaken. 
 In a sudden moment of pride — of bravado — she had 
 signed away almost the whole of the anticipated half- 
 yearly income. She stood possessed of fifty pounds, 
 with which to dress, to eat, to exist from July to Jan- 
 uary ; and in her hands was the sheaf of unpaid bills. 
 
 There is no race of people that undertakes liabili- 
 ties so lightly, and that is so overwhelmed when retri- 
 bution falls upon it, as the Irish race. As Clodagh 
 gradually faced her position panic seized upon her. 
 For weeks she had lived upon the credit that the 
 London tradesman gives to customers who come pro- 
 vided with good references; and now suddenly she 
 had realized — first by the arrival of certain bills, 
 couched in a new and imperative strain, later by 
 Lady Frances Hope's unexpected demand for her 
 money — that English credit is not the lax, indefinite 
 credit of such places as Muskcere and Carrigmore; 
 that it is a credit demanding — insisting upon — timely 
 payment. 
 
 And where was she to turn — where look — for the 
 necessary funds? 
 
 328
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 In a dazed way she thought of David Barnard, 
 who had returned a month previously from a hoH- 
 day in Spain ; but her pride made her shrink sensi- 
 tively from the thought of the suave indulgence with 
 which he would listen to her confession of folly. Once 
 the thought of recalling Lady Frances Hope and ex- 
 plaining the position to her sped through her mind; 
 but she dismissed it as swiftly as it came. In a rest- 
 less perturbation she turned and walked across the 
 room, pausing once more beside the bureau, which 
 stood in a recess between the windows. 
 
 Where could she turn — where look — for the money 
 that would tide over her difficulties? In her mental 
 distraction she laid aside the bills she was still holding, 
 and aimlessly picked up a half-dozen opened letters 
 that lay awaiting answers. A couple of invitations 
 to lunch ; an invitation to play bridge ; the offer of a 
 box at the opera; Laurence Asshlin's monthly report 
 from Orristown; Nance's last letter from America. 
 
 With a vague preoccupation she raised the last of 
 these and looked at it. 
 
 How free and unhampered Nance seemed in her 
 inexperience of life! She looked unseeingly at the 
 closely written lines, her mind in a harassed way con- 
 trasting her own and her sister's fate. Then quite 
 suddenly she dropped the letter and lifted her head. 
 
 A thought had struck her. As a flash of lightning 
 might rend a night sky, an inspiration had illumi- 
 nated the darkness of her mind. The thousand 
 pounds which was to be Nance's property when she 
 came of age, or upon her engagement, still lay to 
 her own credit — in her own name — in the bank with 
 which Milbanke had done business. 
 
 It is extraordinary how rapidly a thought can 
 mature in a receptive mind. In one moment, as 
 
 329
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Clodagh stood beside the bureau, all the possibilities 
 comprised in that ;£iooo broke upon her under- 
 standing. 
 
 How if she withdrew it as a loan! No one — not 
 even Nance herself — need know; and she could refund 
 it within six months — or within a year— long before 
 the thought of marriage could enter the child's mind. 
 
 Then suddenly she paused in her mental calcula- 
 tions, and a new expression passed over her face. 
 Was it right, was it honorable, to make use of this 
 money left in her safe-keeping? 
 
 Uneasy and distressed, she turned to the open win- 
 dow as though a study of the life beyond her own 
 might help her in her dilemma. The scene she looked 
 upon was interesting and even beautiful. The grass 
 of the park still retained something of its first green- 
 ness; in the distance the clustering bower of chest- 
 nuts and copper beeches suggested something far 
 removed from the traffic and toil of the great town; 
 while below the window, tmder a canopy of leaves, 
 the morning procession of horses and carriages passed 
 incessantly to and fro. 
 
 What a curious world it was! How conventional 
 and obvious, and yet in reality how inscrutable! 
 What would it say of her, did it know her true posi- 
 tion ? What comfort — what aid — would it offer? 
 Involuntarily, almost curiously, she laid her finger- 
 tips upon the window-sill and bent slightly forward. 
 Then, very suddenly, she drew back into the room, 
 her face flushing. 
 
 Lord Deerehurst, mounted upon a high, black 
 horse, had pas.sed the window at the moment that 
 she looked out, and, raising his head, had seen and 
 bowed to her. 
 
 The incident was slight; l)ut at certain moments 
 
 330
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 the Celtic nature is extraordinarily, even mysterious- 
 ly, open to suggestion. Clodagh could nol liave de- 
 fined her thought; but the thought was there, a vague, 
 half-fearful, wholly instinctive thought that sudden- 
 ly prompted her to shield herself, to ward ofl the 
 nearer approach of this world that she had leaned from 
 her window to study impersonally, and from which 
 she had received so peculiarly personal an impression. 
 She continued to stand for a moment longer in an 
 attitude of doubt; then swiftly, almost abruptly, she 
 turned round to the bureau, and, kneeling down be- 
 fore it, reopened her check - book with tremulous 
 hands and wrote out a check for £1000 payable to 
 herself.
 
 XXXIV 
 
 THE habit of self-deception had become as a 
 cloak in which Clodagh wrapped herself. She 
 desired happiness, therefore she told herself that she 
 was happy; she instinctively wished to live honor- 
 ably, therefore, through her own persuasion, she be- 
 lieved her actions to be honorable. And under this 
 insidiously sheltering garment her appropriation of 
 her sister's money was securely hidden away. To 
 her own thinking — once the first misgiving had 
 been buried — there was no real wrong, no real dis- 
 honor, in the taking of the ;;^iooo. She needed it 
 temporarily, and would, in due time, repay it with 
 interest. The fact that she did not think it necessary 
 to inform Nance of what she had done certainly 
 weakens the case for her defence; but had she come 
 to be judged from some impersonal source, it is quite 
 possible she would have made as subtle and specious 
 a justification of her conduct as that which she 
 offered to herself. 
 
 In this light the act stood recorded in her own 
 conscience. She needed the money; she took the 
 money; and having taken it, she set about banishing 
 the recollection of it from her mind. 
 
 For three days after she had signed the check she 
 retired into semi-privacy. She was at home to no 
 one; and although she continued to ride each morn- 
 ing and drive each afternoon in the park, she did so 
 
 332
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 with so cold a demeanor that none of her friends had 
 dared to accost her. For three nights she stayed in- 
 doors alone; but on the fourth the insurmountable 
 restlessness that settles so frequently upon the high- 
 spirited woman devoid of home ties seized on her 
 remorselessly. The thought of further solitude be- 
 came unendurable — the idea of another lonely even- 
 ing something not to be borne. At eight o'clock she 
 rose from her solitary dinner, tingling in every nerve 
 for some companionship, and, telephoning to Curzon 
 Street, ascertained that Lady Frances Hope was at 
 home and willing to see her. And a quarter of an 
 hour later she stepped from her brougham at the 
 door of the familiar house. 
 
 She was informed that Lady Frances was in her 
 own room preparing to go out, but would be glad to 
 see her if she would come up-stairs. 
 
 She acquiesced quickly, and before the servant 
 could conduct her down the hall had brushed past 
 him and begun to run up the stairs. 
 
 Opening the door of her friend's bedroom, she 
 paused on the threshold, and gave a little exclama- 
 tion of admiration. Lady Frances Hope was stand- 
 ing before a long mirror, while the maid Rees knelt 
 upon the ground beside her, giving the finishing 
 touches to the skirt of a strikingly beautiful dress. 
 
 Clodagh clasped her hands in a gesture of delight, 
 then ran forward into the room. 
 
 "How splendid you look!" she cried. "Where are 
 you going? What a heavenly dress!" 
 
 Lady Frances smiled. 
 
 "At last!" she exclaimed, holding out her cheek 
 to be kissed. "What have you been doing with 
 vourseU? I have been persecuted with inquiries for 
 you." 
 
 333
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Clodagh laughed excitedly. 
 
 "I have been paying bills," she said, in a high, 
 light voice. 
 
 "So that you may begin to run up new ones?" 
 
 "Quite possibly. But where are you going? All 
 this magnificence makes me curious." She sank into 
 a low chair and glanced with bright, interested eyes 
 at her stately companion. 
 
 But Lady Frances ignored her question. 
 
 "We shall soon be finished with all vainglories," 
 she said. "The season is dying — even if it's dying 
 hard. Do you pine for the country now that the 
 heat has come? I shall expect you to love Tuffnell, 
 you know. It really is quaint. Even I am fond of it." 
 
 Clodagh looked up eagerly. 
 
 " Of course I shall love TufTnell. It has been sweet 
 of your sister to ask me there — but it has been sweeter 
 still of her to ask Nance. You don't know what it 
 will be for me to meet Nance down there — away from 
 everything." Her voice fell a little. 
 
 Lady Frances laughed pleasantly. 
 
 "I am so glad you have arranged that she should 
 come right on from Liverpool instead of staying in 
 town for a night," she said, easily. " It will be much 
 the simpler plan. By-the-way, what day will we ar- 
 range to go down? You and I, I mean? Diana's 
 big dance is on the fifth. Suppose we go down a day 
 or two before?" 
 
 Clodagh responded instantly. 
 
 "Yes," she said; "yes, certainly. But talking of 
 the dance reminds me of my curiosity. Where are 
 you going to-night?" 
 
 This time evasion was impossible. Lady Frances 
 turned to the dressing - table and picked up a dia- 
 mond ornament. 
 
 334
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "You can fix tliis in, Rces," she said, "and then 
 go. I am going to the Tampcrleighs','' she added, 
 carelessly, without looking at Clodagh. 
 
 "The Tampcrleighs' ?" 
 
 "In Grosvenor Place. Dull people." 
 
 Clodagh picked up a fan that was lying on a taljle 
 near her and examined it thoughtfully. 
 
 "Isn't Lady Tamperlcigh an aunt of Sir Walter 
 Gore's?" 
 
 " Yes; and oM Lord Tamperlcigh is a cousin of my 
 mother's — which connects Walter and me in a round- 
 about way." 
 
 There was a slight silence, while Rees hovered about 
 her mistress with one or two last attentions, and then 
 quietly left the room. As she closctl the door Clo- 
 dagh looked up from the fan she had been studying 
 so attentively. 
 
 "Lady Frances," she said, quickly, "you know 
 Lady Tamperlcigh very well?" 
 
 Lady Frances's eyes became vigilant. 
 
 "Yes," she said, vaguely. "Oh yes." 
 
 "Then take me with you to her party — as you took 
 me to the Hensleys' and the Vibrants' last week. 
 I'm wild to go somewhere — to go anywhere to- 
 night." She paused excitedly; then, as her eyes 
 scanned Lady Frances's face, her expression fell. 
 "Of course if there's the least — the very least — 
 difficulty—" 
 
 With a swift, tactful movement Lady Frances 
 came towards her. 
 
 "My dear Clodagh! Don't! You hnoiu how 
 proud I am of you! My hesitation was merely — " 
 
 "Merely what?" 
 
 T>ady Frances laid her hand upon Clodagh's 
 shoulder.
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Walter came back from Russia a week ago. He 
 will be there to-night ; and I think — I think — ' ' She 
 seemed to hesitate. "I think that perhaps, in view 
 of his narrow ideas, it might be pleasanter for you — " 
 She left the sentence expressively unfinished. 
 
 Clodagh rose rather hastily, her face red. 
 
 "Of course!" she said. "Of course! Sir Walter 
 Gore is the last man in London I should wish to 
 meet." 
 
 Lady Frances said nothing, but, moving calmly 
 across the room, took her cloak from a chair. 
 
 "Where can I drop you?" she asked. "At the 
 club?" 
 
 For a second Clodagh stood staring with very 
 bright eyes at an open window across which a lace 
 curtain hung motionless in the still, hot air; then she 
 lifted her head and in her own turn crossed the room. 
 
 "Yes," she said, quietly; "yes, at the club." 
 
 Not many days later Clodagh, in company with 
 Lady Frances Hope, left London for Buckingham- 
 shire, on her promised visit to the latter's sister, 
 Lady Diana Tuffnell. 
 
 The house-party at Tuffnell Place was to include- — 
 besides one or two men and women of personal dis- 
 tinction — a small section of Lady Frances Hope's 
 coterie from the merely fashionable world, compris- 
 ing Lord Deerehurst, Serracauld, and Mrs. Bathurst. 
 For, although Lady Diana Tuffnell was very uncom- 
 promising in the choice of her own friends, she had 
 always been a complacent sister, and Tuffnell Place 
 generally opened its doors during the month of July 
 to Lady Frances Hope and her intimates. 
 
 It was late in the evening when Clodagh arrived, 
 and the old Elizabethan house, with its many win- 
 
 33(>
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 dows of thick, small-paned glass and its fine, oak- 
 raftered hall, filled her with pleasure. After she had 
 been greeted by Lady Diana, and introduced to Mr. 
 Tuffnell — a typical, kindly English squire, who in- 
 variably went his own way straightly, and was con- 
 tent to assume that others did the same — she passed 
 up the shallow staircase and entered the room that 
 had been allotted to her, with a sense of something 
 nearer to happiness than she had known for months. 
 In the whole air of the house and its inmates there 
 was a suggestion of restfulness, of friendliness, of 
 sincerity to which she had been long a stranger. Un- 
 consciously she warmed and softened under the 
 homelike atmosphere. And when, a quarter of an 
 hour later, Simonetta came softly into the bright, 
 chintz-hung bedroom she found her mistress busily 
 unpacking her writing-case and sorting her letters 
 at an old-fashioned oak writing-table. 
 
 That night the two visitors, who had preceded the 
 other members of the house-party by a day, dined 
 alone with their host and hostess. 
 
 They were a very small party for the great dining- 
 hall ; but Clodagh was conscious that at many a 
 crowded restaurant she would have been less well 
 amused. There was a feeling of sincerity in the 
 atmosphere, an honest desire on the part of the en- 
 tertainers to put their guest at her ease, that pre- 
 cluded dulness and artificiality. 
 
 After dinner Lady Frances wandered off to the 
 billiard-room with her brother-in-law, and Clodagh 
 followed her hostess into the drawing-room — a long, 
 tapestried room full of the scent of roses. 
 
 The lamps were lighting when they entered ; but 
 the windows were set wide open, admitting the fra- 
 grance of the garden. 
 
 337
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Involuntarily Clodagli crossed the room and paused 
 beside one of. these broad windows. 
 
 A moment later her hostess followed her. 
 
 "Well, Mrs. Milbanke," she said. "What do you 
 think of England ? Isn't it a place to be happy in ?" 
 She spoke with something of the strength and domi- 
 nation of her sister; but it was a softened strength, 
 as her face, although possessing the same bold out- 
 line as Lady Frances's, was softer, gentler, more 
 sympathetic. 
 
 Clodagh turned and looked at her. 
 
 "I think it is a place to be content in," she said, 
 after a moment's pause. 
 
 Lady Diana Tuffnell's glance rested upon her in- 
 terestedly. And as the thought of her youth and 
 her mourning rose to her mind something like pity 
 touched her face. 
 
 "You are very right," she said. "We women 
 make a great mistake in dissociating happiness and 
 contentment. There is too much struggle in many 
 of our lives and too little peace. Frances, for in- 
 stance! Her life is one restless race after something 
 that is unattainable!" 
 
 "But Lady Frances is happy! She likes strug- 
 gling!" 
 
 Lady Diana smiled. 
 
 "She thinks she does. But the truly contented 
 woman does not need to persuade herself that she is 
 satisfied. Happiness is a fact, not an attainment." 
 With a quiet, kindly movement she turned aside and 
 picked up two photographs that stood upon a side- 
 table. 
 
 "Mrs. Milbanke, this is the happiness that comes 
 — and stays — the happiness that needs no expound- 
 ing." She held out the photographs. 
 
 338
 
 THE GAMBLHR 
 
 Clodagh took them and looked at them. One was 
 the picture of her host; the other the photogra])h of 
 three ])lain-lookins, honest-eyed boys, who each pos- 
 sessed in an ahiiost ridiculous degree their mf)ther's 
 outline of feature. She looked at them intently for 
 a long time; then she handed them back. 
 
 "Thank you," she said, almost inaudibly. Then 
 moved by a sudden thought, she looked up into 
 Lady Diana's face. 
 
 "Lady Diana," she said, "I want you to like my 
 little sister! Will you like her? I don't want her 
 to be one of the struggling women — " Then she 
 paused suddenly, as the drawing-room door opened 
 and Lady Frances Hope entered, followed by her 
 brother-in-law. 
 
 At the sound of the opening door Lady Diana 
 gave her a quick smile of sympathy and understand- 
 ing, and turned to greet the new-comers. 
 
 "What, Frances!" she exclaimed, laughingly, as 
 she caught sight of her sister's face. "Has George 
 been beating you?" 
 
 Lady Frances came forward frowning. 
 
 "How ridiculous you arc, Di! Your mind never 
 soars above George." Tlicn realizing that her an- 
 noyance had carried her away, she gave a short laugh, 
 and suddenly recovered her composure. 
 
 " I am angry because our game was spoiled. I was 
 making a really excellent break, when wc were in- 
 terrupted by a stupid telegram from Walter Gore." 
 
 Almost abruptly Clodagh turned liack to the open 
 window, conscious that her face and ears were sud- 
 denly burning and that her heart had given a great, 
 unsteady throb. 
 
 Lady Diana looked (]ui(kly from her sister to her 
 husband. 
 
 .339
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "From Walter?" she said, in surprise. 
 " Yes, from Walter." George Tuffnell came forward 
 with an open telegram in his hand. "Listen to this! 
 
 " ' Back from Russia. Town insufferably hot. Gore bridges 
 in tradesmen's hands. No plans for immediate week. Can 
 you put me up from to-morrow ? Walter Gore.' 
 
 " Luck, isn't it? Why, we haven't seen him for a 
 year. Dear old Walter!" Tuffnell's good-natured 
 face beamed with hospitable enthusiasm. 
 
 "What do you say, Di?" he added. "Of course 
 we can manage it?" 
 
 "Of course! Why, it will make our party com- 
 plete." Lady Diana glanced at her sister; but to 
 her surprise there was no response in Lady Frances's 
 expression. 
 
 With a movement of sudden decision she had 
 stepped forward. 
 
 "Di, wait a moment!" she said. "You know 
 Walter and Val Serracauld never hit it off — and 
 Walter and Deerehurst detest each other. Do you 
 think it would be wise?" 
 
 Lady Diana looked perplexed. " It is a little diffi- 
 cult," she said. "But we cannot refuse Walter.' 
 She looked at her husband. 
 
 George Tuffnell responded with a laugh. 
 
 "Refuse Walter! Why, I'd as soon refuse to have 
 the boys home for the holidays! The house is big 
 enough for everybody. What do you say, Mrs. 
 Milbanke?" 
 
 Clodagh turned from the open window. From being 
 red her face was now very pale. 
 
 "I—" she stammered. "I—?" 
 
 Again Tuffnell laughed good-naturedly. 
 
 "Certainly. Don't you think, Di, that Mrs. MiJ- 
 
 340
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 banke could give us an expert opinion on the man- 
 agement of man?" 
 
 Clodagh laughed unsteadily. Then, all at once, 
 her mental balance was shaken by a wave of fechng. 
 The thought of Gore — the remembrance of Gore — 
 rose like tangible things, blotting out all else. She 
 lifted her eyes to her host's. 
 
 "I agree with you," she swiftly said. "I should 
 say that — that the house is big enough."
 
 XXXV 
 
 THE remaining hours of that night passed Hke a 
 dream for Clodagh. Condemn herscli as she 
 might for the weakness, there was no subduing the 
 tumultuous excitement kindled by the thought that 
 she was to see Gore again. 
 
 It was not to be denied that time, intervening in- 
 cidents, and a sub-conscious personal desire had 
 blunted the first resentment that Lady Frances 
 Hope's disclosures had engendered. In the reckless 
 pursuit of excitement that had marked the past 
 three months she had imagined him banished from 
 her mind; but now, at the knowledge of his promised 
 advent, she reahzed that it had only been an im- 
 agination; that, despite everything, his place in her 
 mind had never been usurped. 
 
 When at last she fell asleep, long after midnight, 
 her dreams were strange, exciting, almost happy; 
 and when next morning the entrance of Simonetta 
 roused her to consciousness, it was with something 
 like hopefulness and anticipation that she turned her 
 eyes to the open window, through which the clear 
 country sunlight was breaking between the gay chintz 
 curtains. 
 
 With a quick, eager wakefulness she sat up in bed 
 and pushed back her loosened hair. A feeling, long 
 forgotten, was stirring in her heart— the vague, 
 delicious hope of future things that had been wont 
 
 342
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 to 111 rill her Ioit^ aj^'o, when she rode her father's 
 horses alon^; the strand at Orristown in the untar- 
 nished dawn of an Irisli day. 
 
 During the process of dressing, this sense of an- 
 ticipation grew, and with it came a spontaneous wish 
 for action. She became imbued with the same de- 
 sire for Hght and air and freedom that had possessed 
 her on the day in Florence when she had gazed out 
 upon the distant hills from the window of the villa. 
 
 Something of her eager energy was shining in her 
 eyes as she descended the stairs and entered the 
 sunny morning-room, where breakfast was always 
 served when the i:)arty at Tuflfnell was small. 
 
 Lady Diana and her husband were already in the 
 room, glancing through their morning letters, the 
 former wearing a plain linen dress, the latter an old 
 shooting -suit that had seen much service. At the 
 moment that she opened the door Lady Diana was 
 reading aloud from the letter in her hand, while 
 George Tuffncll was laughing with enormous amuse- 
 ment. They made a very homely, pleasant picture 
 of contented, successful married life. 
 
 Seeing their guest, they both came forward cord- 
 ially, and George Tuffnell smiled warm-heartedly as 
 he took her hand. 
 
 "Well, Mrs. Milbanke. and what is Tuffnell like 
 in dayhght? Isn't it worth a hundred Londons? 
 Haven't you got an appetite for breakfast?" 
 
 Lady Diana laughed as she led Clodagh to the 
 table. 
 
 "George is a horrible egoist," she said, cheerfully. 
 "He thinks the only things in the world worthy of 
 consideration are Tuffnell — and the Tuffnells." 
 
 Clodagh smiled as she took her scat. 
 
 " He is very much justified," she said, softly. Then 
 
 343
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 she glanced round the table. " But where's Lady 
 Frances?" 
 
 Her hostess smiled. 
 
 "Breakfasting in bed. I knocked at her door at 
 seven to ask whether she would care for a canter be- 
 fore breakfast, or whether she would like to walk 
 over to the home farm with George, but she literally 
 drove me away. She's out of sorts to-day. Poor 
 Frances!" 
 
 "Oh, I am sorry!" Clodagh looked distressed. 
 "Just to-day, when everybody's coming!" 
 
 George Tuffnell turned to her with his habitual 
 bluff kindliness. 
 
 "Don't trouble, Mrs. Milbanke," he said. "She'll 
 be all right by the afternoon. It's the mornings that 
 society plays the deuce with. Look at Di! Look 
 what a country life has done for her!" 
 
 Clodagh looked almost shyly at her hostess's 
 straight shoulders and healthy, happy face. 
 
 "Don't make me more envious than I am," she 
 said, gently. "Lady Diana has everything." 
 
 With a sympathetic gesture Lady Diana extended 
 her hand and touched hers lightly. 
 
 "My dear," she said, "you have no reason to re- 
 pine. And Tuffnell is to bring you enjoyment, not 
 regret. What amusement can we plan for the morn- 
 ing, George?" 
 
 George Tuffnell looked up from the omelet to which 
 he was helping himself. 
 
 " What would Mrs. Milbanke like ? You may do 
 anything you like here, Mrs. Milbanke — except be 
 unhappy." 
 
 Clodagh smiled brightly. 
 
 "Anything?" 
 
 "Anything — in wisdom." 
 
 344
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 She hesitated for a moment, looking down at her 
 plate; then, with a quick, winning movement, she 
 lifted her head, glancing from one of her entertainers 
 to the other. 
 
 "Then give me a horse," she said, quickly, "and 
 let me ride by myself till lunch-time." 
 
 Lady Diana looked distressed. 
 
 "What — alone?" she asked. 
 
 But her husband laughed cheerily. 
 
 " Why not — if she wishes ? Tuffnell is Liberty 
 Hall, Mrs. Milbanke. You shall have the best horse 
 in the stables." 
 
 Lady Diana smiled indulgently. 
 
 "I hope we are doing right! Four hours by one's 
 self in the saddle is rather a lonely thing." 
 
 "Oh, but I won't be alone!" Clodagh cried. "A 
 good horse is the best company in the world." 
 
 At the conclusion of breakfast she rose to go up- 
 stairs and change into her habit. As she passed her 
 hostess she paused. 
 
 "Shall I run in and see Lady Frances?" she asked. 
 
 Lady Diana looked up at her. 
 
 "I think not. Frances called through the door 
 this morning that no one was to go near her before 
 twelve o'clock. I'd wait till then, if I were you." 
 
 And Clodagh nodded comprehendingly and left the 
 room. 
 
 Half an hour later she rode down a long avenue 
 of chestnuts, mounted on a splendid bay horse of 
 Lady Diana's, and emerged upon the road that 
 skirted the park wall. 
 
 Tuffnell Place was situated in one of the richest 
 corners of Buckinghamshire; and as she drew rein 
 for a moment outside the large gates, and surveyed 
 the surrounding country, it seemed to her that, as 
 
 345
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 far as the eye could reach, the land stretched away 
 in one great tract of prosperous, well-tilled fields and 
 sweeping meadow-land, broken by high hedges and 
 low, wooded hills. 
 
 The day was one to revel in ; the scene one to bring 
 complete repose. And as she gathered up her reins, 
 and allowed the bay horse to sweep down the gently 
 sloping road into this land of plenty, she permitted 
 the atmosphere to take full possession of her. For 
 the moment the thought of London, of her fellow- 
 beings, even of herself, fell away from her conscious 
 consideration, and she dreamed — as an Irishwoman 
 can always dream — with her eyes open and her 
 senses alert to her horse's slightest movement, yet 
 wrapped in a world of her own, created from the 
 warm blue haze of summer that lay over the rich 
 country — from the summer sun that warmed her 
 blood — from the close, instinctive comprehension 
 of nature that no artificiality has power to erad- 
 icate. 
 
 It was more than three hours later when she rode 
 back to the gates of Tuffnell, having covered many 
 miles of country and revelled for a long, delicious 
 stretch of time in her own musings. The air and the 
 hot sun had warmed her face to a splendid, healthy 
 color, her li[)S were parted eagerly, and across her 
 saddle she was carrying a sjjray of honeysuckle 
 plucked from the tall hcdgerovv^s. Her mood was 
 generous, pliable, brimming with high impulses; if, in 
 that moment, one loving hand had been stretched 
 forth to hers, one honest soul come out of the sun- 
 light to meet her own, many things might have been 
 different. But the moment came — and the moment 
 passed. 
 
 Riding quickly up the avenue, she drew rein at the 
 
 346
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 hall -door, and at the same instant Lady Frances 
 Hope crossed the wide, sunny hall. 
 
 Clodagh saw her at once, and a shade of disap- 
 pointment touched her face. Lady Frances was so 
 intensely suggestive of the world she had been trying 
 to forge. Her impulses of a minute ago shrank in- 
 stinctively; the habit of indiflference came back to 
 her by suggestion. She suddenly felt ashamed of 
 her sunburned face and of the spray of honeysuckle. 
 
 But Lady Frances came forward to the hall-door, 
 and at the same moment a groom hurried round from 
 the stables. 
 
 Clodagh slipped easily from her horse, took her 
 flowers from the saddle, and then turned to greet her 
 friend. 
 
 " How are you ?" she said. " I was so sorry not to 
 have seen you this morning. I have had a glorious 
 ride." 
 
 Lady Frances did not respond to the words with 
 her habitual smile. And on closer scrutiny Clodagh 
 observed that, despite a very careful toilet, she looked 
 tired and annoyed. 
 
 "You've been away an age!" she said, irritably. 
 "It's after twelve!" 
 
 "Then perhaps I'd better change! The coach is 
 to be back from the station at half- past twelve." 
 
 "No. Never mind! Diana isn't conventional. 
 You can meet the people — and lunch too — in your 
 habit. I want to talk to vou." 
 
 Clodagh's eyes opened. It was new to find Lady 
 Frances's manner either hastv or perturbed. 
 
 "To me? What about?" 
 
 The other hesitated for a moment, then looked 
 straight at her companion. 
 
 "About Walter Gore." 
 
 347
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 The onslaught was so sudden that Clodagh had no 
 time to guard her feehngs. She flushed — a deep, 
 painful flush that spread over her cheeks, her ears, 
 her forehead. 
 
 Lady Frances looked at her mercilessly. 
 
 "I have been worrying so about his coming — 
 worrying so about you." 
 
 "About me?" 
 
 Clodagh said the words consciously and uncom- 
 fortably. 
 
 "Yes. I feel so much for you — you, who are so 
 sensitive. Clodagh!" She laid her fingers lightly 
 on Clodagh's arm. "Clodagh! I am your best 
 friend. You believe that?" 
 
 "You — you have always been very good to me." 
 
 "And always shall be good to you. Look here!" 
 Her voice suddenly took on the tone of seeming 
 frankness that is the clever woman's best weapon. 
 "I'm enormously fond of you — enormously fond of 
 you. I should hate to see you hurt or — or — " 
 
 She paused judiciously. 
 
 " But who would hurt me ? Why should I be hurt ?" 
 
 "You shouldn't be, of course. But sometimes 
 circumstances- — chances — people — hurt one. Oh, my 
 dear girl, I'm unhappy at this unlucky coming of 
 Walter's. It's hard — it's really hard — on you." 
 
 As the words were uttered it seemed to Clodagh 
 that a faint, cold wind blew from some unseen quar- 
 ter, chilling the summer warmth — chilling her own 
 happiness. 
 
 "Why — why hard on me?" she asked. 
 
 "Dear child!" Lady Frances's tone was deep and 
 kind. "Do you remember the night in town when 
 you asked me to take you to the Tamperleighs' 
 party?" 
 
 348
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Yes. I remember." 
 
 "You remember why I refused?" 
 
 "Yes, I remember." 
 
 " But you did not know my full reason for refusing. 
 I had met Walter a day or two before. We had dis- 
 cussed you." 
 
 "And what had Sir Walter Gore to say of 
 me?" 
 
 "He said — oh, dear child, don't ask me to be too 
 literal." 
 
 "But I do." Clodagh freed her arm. 
 
 " Is it worth while ? I tried to keep you two apart 
 while I could. Now that it has become impos- 
 sible—" 
 
 "But why should we be kept apart? What have 
 I done?" 
 
 "Dear Clodagh! You know Walter — you know 
 how entirely he disapproves — " 
 
 "Disapproves! Disapproves! What right has Sir 
 Walter Gore to disapprove of me ? To criticise me — 
 to speak of me?" Her voice shook, not — as she 
 herself imagined — with outraged pride, but with un- 
 controllable disappointment and pain. "Oh, I re- 
 sent it!" she cried. "I resent it!" 
 
 Then suddenly she paused, turning to her com- 
 panion with an almost frightened gesture. Up the 
 long avenue came the sound of wheels and the rapid 
 clatter of many hoofs. 
 
 Lady Frances put out her hand again and touched 
 Clodagh's wrist. 
 
 "Here they are," she said. "I am glad to see 
 your courage. I admire it." 
 
 As she had intended, the sharp, concise words 
 braced her companion. She stood for an instant 
 longer in an attitude of nervous panic; then sudden- 
 
 349
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 ly she threw up her head with a touch of the boyish 
 spirit that had marked her long ago. 
 
 "I — I am not a coward, Lady Frances!" she said. 
 
 Side by side they waited, while the big, yellow 
 coach, piloted by George Tuffnell, swung round the 
 bend of the drive. And as Clodagh stood there, 
 watching the great vehicle sweep round to the hall- 
 door, her face became pale and her fingers closed 
 tightly round the handle of her riding-crop. It was 
 her world — her world in miniature — that swayed 
 towards her while she impotently waited its ap- 
 proach. 
 
 On the box, beside George Tuffnell, sat Mrs. Bath- 
 urst, radiant in summer garments; behind were 
 Deerehurst, Serracauld, Gore, and a middle-aged man 
 who was unknown to her. As her eye passed from 
 one face to another, Tuffnell drew the horses up with 
 great dexterity, the servants sprang to tke ground, 
 and Lady Diana came hospitably forward from the 
 recesses of the hall. 
 
 The first guest to descend from the coach was 
 Serracauld. Reaching the ground, he paused for a 
 second to brush some dust from his light flannel suit ; 
 then he came forward to his hostess. 
 
 " Howd' you do. Lady Diana! — and Lady Frances!" 
 
 He shook hands with both; then he turned to 
 Clodagh with rather more impressiveness. 
 
 "How tremendously fit you look!" he said. 
 
 Before she could answer, Deerehurst joined them, 
 calmly taking her hand as though it were his right. 
 
 "Well— Circe!" he said, below his breath. "We 
 have followed." 
 
 Clodagh turned her eyes hastily, almost nervously, 
 from Serracauld's attentive face to the cold features 
 of the older man. 
 
 350
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 " I^I should feel very (lattcred," she said, lightly. 
 
 Ilcr eyes were on Deerchurst's, her hand was in 
 his, but her mind was poignantly conscious of Gore's 
 figure standing close behind her, of Gore's voice ex- 
 changing greetings with Lady Diana TufTnell. 
 
 A moment later she knew that he had turned and 
 had seen the tableau made by the old peer, Scrra- 
 cauld, and herself. 
 
 " How d' you do, Mrs. Milbanke ? It is a long time 
 since we have met." 
 
 It was not until he had directly addressed her, not 
 until she had turned and met his glance, that Clo- 
 dagli realized how deeply, how peculiarly he had in- 
 fluenced her. She drew her fingers sharply from 
 Deerchurst's. 
 
 "It is a long time," she said, very softly. 
 
 Gore took her hand. 
 
 At the same moment Deerehurst laughed — his 
 laugh of unfathomable, cynical wisdom. 
 
 "Mrs. Milbanke was the chrysalis in those old days, 
 Gore," he said, lightly. " Now you see the butterfly I" 
 
 At the laugh and the tone Gore's expression be- 
 came cold, and he released Clodagh's hand. 
 
 "So I have l)een told," he said, a little stiffly. "I 
 must congratulate Mrs. Milbanke on her develop- 
 ment." He gave a slightly constrained laugh and 
 moved back to Lady Diana's side. 
 
 Deerehurst looked after him — a malicious, humor- 
 ous look. 
 
 "Isn't it too lenient of the prettiest lady in London 
 to allow a young ])uritan to take her to task in jmb- 
 lic?" he asked, in his satirical voice. 
 
 Clodagh flushed, and, turning as if to answer, let 
 the spray of honeysuckle slip inadvertently from be- 
 tween her fingers. 
 
 351
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Instantly both Deerehurst and Serracauld stooped 
 to recover it. The younger man was successful, and, 
 straightening himself quickly, wheeled round to re- 
 turn it. Then his face fell, and again Deerehurst 
 laughed. 
 
 Without a word Clodagh had left the little group 
 and disappeared into the house.
 
 XXXVI 
 
 AT lunch-time Clodagh sent word to Lady Diana 
 I Tullnell that the long ride in the morning sun 
 had given her a headache, and that she would be 
 glad of a few hours' rest. 
 
 On receipt of the message her hostess was much 
 concerned, and came herself to Clodagh's bedroom 
 door to inquire whether she could be of any use to 
 the sufferer; but there she was met by Simonetta, 
 who conveyed the intelligence that her mistress was 
 asleep. 
 
 But in reality Clodagh was not sleeping — was not 
 even lying down ; she was sitting in a low chair in the 
 shadow of the drawn chintz curtains, striving to solve 
 the question of her future conduct. Would she re- 
 main at Tuffnell and face the difficulties of her posi- 
 tion ? Would she turn coward — and run away ? 
 
 She passed in review the incidents of the morning, 
 until, by persistent contemplation of them, her 
 humiliation kindled to anger. First, anger against 
 herself; then, anger against the world at large; lastly, 
 anger against Gore. 
 
 By the time afternoon tea was brought to her the 
 headache she had feigned had become a reality, and 
 before dinner-time arrived she had fallen into a state 
 of miserable despondency. But scarcely had this 
 black mood taken possession of her than a new and 
 more intolerable distress assailed her. She suddenly 
 »3 353
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 realized the gossip to which her abrupt retirement 
 might give rise. What would the house-party think 
 of her disappearance ? Wotild not Lady Frances 
 Hope — if no one else — presume that she was suffer- 
 ing from wounded vanity ? The thought was unen- 
 durable. No sooner did it present itself than she 
 sprang from her chair in a fever of apprehension and 
 rang hastily for Simonetta. 
 
 Ten minutes before the dinner-hour she emerged 
 from her room and passed down-stairs. Faint day- 
 light was still filling the house; but everywhere the 
 lamps had been lighted, and the mellow double il- 
 lumination gave a curious softening effect to the old 
 raftered ceilings and panelled walls. 
 
 In the hall she was met by Lady Frances Hope, 
 who paused and looked at her scrutinizingly. 
 
 "What is the matter with you?" she asked, with 
 unusual brusqueness. "You almost look as if you 
 had a fever. Your eyes are glittering." 
 
 Clodagh laughed nervously and put one hand to 
 her cheek. 
 
 "Nothing is the matter." 
 
 Lady Frances's lip curled slightly. 
 
 "You should go to bed early." 
 
 "Yes. Early in the morning! I feel I could sit 
 up all night." 
 
 "Playing bridge?" 
 
 Again Clodagh laughed, this time a little reck- 
 lessly. 
 
 "Why not?" she asked. "Won't you play to- 
 night?"' 
 
 "Not here. George is rather a stickler — where his 
 relations are concerned." 
 
 "And his guests?" 
 
 Clodagh's question was quick and a little anxious. 
 
 354
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Oh, his guests can amuse themselves as they hke, 
 of course." 
 
 "Then 1 shall play to-night — if I can find any one 
 to play with." 
 
 Lady Frances looked over her shoulder, attracted 
 by the sound of voices. 
 
 "Well, here come's Rose!" she said. "Press her 
 into your service! She won't refuse, if you give her 
 Mr. Mansfeldt as a partner. The set she has made 
 on that man the whole afternoon is perfectly dis- 
 graceful." 
 
 She turned with a smile to Mrs. Bathurst. 
 
 "Ah, Rose! How nice to see you! And you are 
 just in time. Wc have been taking your name in 
 vain." 
 
 Clodjigh became the centre of a noisy party until 
 dinner was announced. And duri ig the meal itself 
 the same air of inconsequent gaycty was maintained 
 in her regard, for she sat between Serracauld and 
 his uncle. 
 
 A dozen topics were touched upon during the 
 course of the meal — the latest sporting gossip, the 
 latest social scandal, the latest Parisian play, all 
 were discussed, and all laughed over the triviality of 
 the world that has few prejudices, few responsibilities, 
 fewer ideals. 
 
 From time to time, during the easy flow of this 
 light talk, she found herself stealing surreptitious 
 glances down the long table to where Gore was seated 
 between Lady Diana TufTnell and her sister; but not 
 once did she surprise a glance from hi'.n. It sccmc I 
 that he had very successfully banished her from his 
 mind. 
 
 After dinner the whole party left the dining-room 
 
 355
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 together, as was the custom at Tuffnell, some to play 
 bilhards, some to stroll in the gardens, others to find 
 their way to the music-room, where Lady Diana 
 usually gathered a little audience to listen to her sing- 
 ing. On this evening Clodagh was among the first 
 to pass out of the dining-room, and, moving into the 
 centre of the hall, she paused and looked expectantly 
 over her shoulder. 
 
 As she had anticipated, Deerehurst appeared al- 
 most at once and came directly to her side. 
 
 "What is your pleasure.?" he said. "Bridge?" 
 
 She looked up swiftly. 
 
 "Yes, bridge," she said, quickly. "I feel I must 
 have excitement to-night." 
 
 He looked at her immovably. 
 
 "As you wish," he said, calmly. "I shall ask 
 Rose Bathurst and Mansfeldt to play." 
 
 He turned awa z^, and at the same moment Lady 
 Diana came forward from a little group that included 
 her husband and Gore. Coming close to Clodagh, 
 she laid her hand kindly on her arm. 
 
 "Well, Mrs. Milbanke," she said, pleasantly, "how 
 shall we amuse you this evening." 
 
 Clodagh turned swiftly. Her nerves felt so tense 
 and strained that even her hostess's quiet voice set 
 them tingling. 
 
 "Oh, I have chosen my amusement," she said. 
 "I want a game of bridge, and Lord Deerehurst has 
 gone to make up a four." 
 
 Lady Diana's expression changed, betraying a 
 leaven of disappointment. 
 
 "Bridge?" she repeated. "Do you think you are 
 quite wise? Remember your headache!" 
 
 Clodagh gave a short, excited laugh. 
 
 "Ah, you are not a bridge-player. Lady Diana! 
 
 356
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 If you were, you would know that bridge is a cure 
 for all the ills of humanity. Here comes Lord Deere- 
 hurst with two accomplices! Fancy, it is the first 
 time I have met the rich Mr. Mansfeldt!" 
 
 Lady Diana was silent. She looked once more at 
 Clodagh — a rapid, penetrating look that might have 
 belonged to her sister. Then she compelled herself 
 to smile. 
 
 " I hope your game will be a good one," she said, 
 graciously, and, moving quietly away, she rejoined 
 her husband. 
 
 Almost at the same moment Deerehurst approach- 
 ed, followed at some little distance by Mrs. Bathurst 
 and Mansfeldt — a South African millionaire who had 
 recently found his way into society. 
 
 "Rose is making the running," he remarked, in a 
 maliciously amused whisper. " She asked me before 
 dinner exactly what Mansfeldt is worth. Ah, here 
 you are, Mansfeldt!" he added, aloud. "Allow me 
 to present you to Mrs. Milbanke. Mrs. Milbanke, 
 will you show us the way to the card-room ? I hear 
 you are the spoiled child of the house." 
 
 Clodagh bowed to Mansfeldt, and, responding at 
 once to Deerehurst's suggestion, led the way across 
 the hall. 
 
 The card - room at Tuffnell was the only room in 
 the big, rambling house that had not preserved an 
 air of Old-World repose ; here alone the artistic deco- 
 rator had been allowed to encroach upon the handi- 
 work of time; and the result, although comfortable 
 and even luxurious, was modern and slightly bizarre. 
 An Oriental carpet, a few divans and coffee stools, 
 half a dozen chairs, and three or four baize-covered 
 tables comprised the somewhat conventional furni- 
 ture; while the walls were covered in fabric of bright 
 
 357
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 scarlet and decorated with a peculiar and extrava- 
 gant frieze representing the hfty-two cards of the 
 pack. As Clodagh entered, an irrepressible recol- 
 lection of London — of the clubs, the card - rooms, 
 the smoking-rooms of London — where men and wom- 
 en idle away their lives and their money, rose to 
 her mind, banishing the pictures of country peace 
 that the last twelve hours had conjured. 
 
 Pausing by one of the tables, she looked back at her 
 three companions. 
 
 "Let's cut for partners!" she cried, quickly, pick- 
 ing up an unused pack of cards. "See! I've cut a 
 ten!" 
 
 Mrs. Bathurst came languidly forward and raised 
 a portion of the pack. 
 
 "A three!" she said. "Now Mr. Mansfeldt, and 
 Lord Deerehurst!" She looked with graceful inter- 
 est towards the men. 
 
 Deerehurst cut a four; then the millionaire fol- 
 lowed with a two. 
 
 Mrs. Bathurst's face flushed with pleasure. 
 
 "How strange!" she murmured. "Do you mind 
 having a very stupid partner, Mr. Mansfeldt?" Her 
 large brown eyes rested on the rich man's face, exact- 
 ly as they had rested upon Deerehurst's in the days 
 at Venice. 
 
 Observing and comprehending this by the light of 
 recent knowledge, Clodagh gave a sharp, amused laugh. 
 
 "I think every one is satisfied. Rose," she said. 
 " Now, about points ! Lord Deerehurst, what points ?" 
 
 Deerehurst bowed complacently. 
 
 "What you like, partner. Our usual forty shil- 
 lings a hundred ?" 
 
 "Or twenty shillings a hundred?" suggested Mrs. 
 Bathurst, with a deprecating smile at Mansfeldt. 
 
 358^
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Again Clodagh lauglictl. 
 
 " You arc getting very nKjdcst, Rose. Do you 
 remember the last time we were opponents at bridge? 
 But I won't tell tales out of school." 
 
 Mrs. Bathurst looked annoyed. 
 
 "Would it be quite wise?" she asked, sharply. 
 
 But Deerehurst intervened. 
 
 "Well," he said, "shall we decide on forty-shilling 
 points? Mr. Mansfeldt, do you agree?" 
 
 Mansfeldt, who was an intensely reserved and 
 silent man, looked up unemotionally. 
 
 "I am in your hands," he said; and, following the 
 example already set by Clodagh and Mrs. Bathurst, 
 he seated himself at the card-table. 
 
 "Very well. Forty - shilling points." Deerehurst 
 also seated himself and began to collect the scat- 
 tered cards. 
 
 But with a swift gesture Clodagh leaned across the 
 table and placed a detaining hand over his. 
 
 " Wait!" she said. "Let's make it eighty shillings 
 a hundred!" 
 
 Deerehurst raised his eyebrows, and the million- 
 aire glanced at her curiously, while Mrs. Bathurst 
 made a little affected exclamation of dismay. 
 
 "Clodagh, I couldn't! I'm horribly hard up!" 
 
 Once again Clodagh laughed shortly. 
 
 "Then trust to luck! You're more lucky than I 
 am." Her voice was high and charged with excite- 
 ment; her eyes looked hard and very bright. 
 
 Deerehurst's cold glance rested for a moment on 
 her face. 
 
 "You really want excitement to-night?" he asked, 
 in a low voice. 
 
 She threw up her head with a reckless move- 
 ment. 
 
 359
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Yes; I do want excitement. Rose, will you agree 
 to eighty -shilling points?" 
 
 Mrs. Bathurst allowed her gaze to flutter prettily 
 from one face to another, until it finally rested upon 
 Mansfeldt's. 
 
 "Will you decide, partner?" she said, in a con- 
 fiding whisper. 
 
 Mansfeldt looked at her for an instant in slight 
 embarrassment; then he appeared to regain his 
 stolidity of bearing. 
 
 "You may play," he said, decisively; and a faint, 
 indescribable smile flitted across Mrs. Bathurst's lips 
 as she sank back into her chair. 
 
 It was nearly two hours before the steady progress 
 of their play was interrupted by any remark not 
 directly connected with the game; then, at the con- 
 clusion of the second rubber, Clodagh looked across 
 at Deerehurst, as if obeying a sudden impulse. 
 
 "I bring you bad luck, partner!" she said, quickly. 
 
 Mrs. Bathurst laughed. 
 
 "Unlucky at cards, lucky in love! He won't com- 
 plain, Clodagh." 
 
 Deerehurst smiled calmly. 
 
 "Is it well to aver that?" he said. "Look at your 
 own score!" 
 
 She laughed again — a laugh of complete satisfaction. 
 
 "Ah, but I owe that to my partner's play, not to 
 luck! Shall we lower the points, Clodagh? You are 
 a horrible loser." 
 
 Clodagh's hot cheeks flushed a deeper red. 
 
 "Lower the points! I would rather raise them. 
 But aren't we losing time? Deal, Mr. Mansfeldt, 
 please!" Her excitement was obvious. Her lips 
 were obstinately set, and her fingers tapped the table 
 in nervous impatience. 
 
 360
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 A third rubber was begun and finished; then a 
 fourth and a fifth; and very gradually, as the play 
 continued, the sounds throughout the house became 
 fainter and fewer. At first the tones of Lady Diana's 
 voice had floated up from the music-room, and the 
 usual hum of applause had succeeded, to be followed 
 in its own turn by more music. Song after song had 
 been sung; then had come the sound of talk and 
 laughter, as the party from the music-room evidently 
 adjourned to the garden. But slowly these sounds 
 had lessened. The laughter had ceased; and the 
 entertainment out-of-doors had died down to the 
 murmuring of two men's voices and the slow pacing 
 of a couple of pairs of feet up and down the terrace 
 beneath the card-room window. At last even this 
 had ended with the heavy shutting of a door, and, 
 save for the occasional distant sound of a closing 
 window, silence reigned in the house. 
 
 The sixth rubber was drawing to its close, when 
 the door of the card-room opened quietly and Lady 
 Diana entered, looking slightly tired and pale. 
 
 She came forward to the table and stood looking 
 at the players. 
 
 "Don't stir," she said. "I only came to see that 
 you are all right. Who has been lucky?" 
 
 Mrs. Bathurst looked up self-confidently. 
 
 "We have — enormously," she said. "Mrs. Mil- 
 banke was most daring, and doubled our ordinary 
 stakes. The results have been wonderful — for us." 
 
 "Indeed!" Lady Diana's voice sounded unusually 
 cold, and Clodagh was conscious that her observant 
 eyes had turned upon her. 
 
 But she played on without looking up. 
 
 At last the final trick was won, the score reckoned 
 up, and the players rose. 
 
 361
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Deerehurst pushed back his chair and looked about 
 him speculatively. 
 
 "It feels late!" he said. "What is the time, Lady 
 Diana? My conscience begins to trouble me." 
 
 Lady Diana smiled a little conventionally. 
 
 "I think it is about half-past two," she answered. 
 
 "Oh, Lady Diana, how wicked of us!" Mrs. Bath- 
 urst affected a charming penitence. 
 
 Mansfeldt looked genuinely uncomfortable and dis- 
 tressed. 
 
 "We owe you an apology," he said. "We have 
 kept you from your rest." 
 
 But Lady Diana graciously waived all apologies 
 aside. 
 
 "It is nothing! Nothing!" she assured them. 
 "We are not so rustic as all that. Lord Deerehurst, 
 you and Mr. Mansfeldt will find George in the smok- 
 ing-room." She gave the suggestion with her usual 
 hospitable warmth; but the smile that accompanied 
 the words was not the smile she had given to Clodagh 
 the evening before — or that morning at breakfast. 
 
 And Clodagh, keenly sensitive to this altered bear- 
 ing, stood silent, offering no apology. At last, as 
 though the tension of the position compelled her to 
 action, she held out her hand in a half-diffident, half- 
 defiant gesture. 
 
 "Good -night, Lady Diana. Good -night. Rose. 
 Good-night, Mr. Mansfeldt. Good-night." Last of 
 all her fingers touched Deerehurst's, and as his cold 
 hand closed over hers he bent his head deferentially. 
 
 "Good -night, partner. Sleep well. We will be 
 more fortunate in the future." 
 
 But Clodagh gave no sign that she had even heard. 
 Almost ungraciously she freed her hand, and, with- 
 out glancing at any of the occupants of the room, 
 
 362
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 moved (|uiL'klv to the door and passed out into the 
 corridor. 
 
 Her brain seemed to burn as she mounted the long 
 flight of shallow stairs that led to the bedrooms; her 
 head ached; her senses felt confused. She had lost 
 money to a far greater extent than she could possibly 
 afford; she had alienated the friend she had so ardent- 
 ly desired to make; she had acted wilfully — absurdly 
 — wrongly. 
 
 She opened the door of her bedroom with hasty, 
 unsteady fingers. The lamp on the writing-table was 
 lighted, but the rest of the room was dim; through 
 the open windows came a slight breeze that stirred 
 the chintz curtains; in a chair by the dressing-table 
 sat Simonetta in an attitude of weariness. 
 
 The sight of the woman's tired figure jarred on 
 Clodagh's overstrained nerves. 
 
 "You can go, Simonetta," she said, sharply. "I'll 
 put myself to bed." 
 
 Simonetta started up remorsefully. 
 
 "Pardon, signora — " she exclaimed. 
 
 But Clodagh cut her short. 
 
 "You can go," she said. "Good-night." 
 
 The woman looked at her for a moment in doubt 
 and reluctance; then, instinctively realizing that argu- 
 ment was useless, mewed softly to the door. 
 
 "Good-night, signora," she ventured; but as Clo- 
 dagh made no response she departed, silently closing 
 the door. 
 
 Left alone, Clodagh moved aimlessly to the centre 
 of the room, and stood there as if seeking some object 
 which might distract her mind. Her glance passed 
 vaguely over the dressing-table, laden with familiar 
 personal objects, then strayed to a couch on which 
 lay an open book that she had made a fruitless at- 
 
 3^3
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 tempt to read during the hot hours of the afternoon; 
 at last, attracted by the Hght of the lamp, it turned 
 to the writing-table, on which was placed the heavy 
 leather writing-case that had belonged to her mother 
 and that had remained with her through all hef 
 wanderings since the time of her marriage. It lay 
 unlocked, as she had left it the evening before, the 
 contents protruding untidily from under the thick 
 leather flap. Something intimate and friendly in the 
 shabby object appealed to and attracted her. With- 
 out considering the action, she went slowly forward 
 and laid her fingers hesitatingly upon it. All the 
 small records that constituted memory lay side by 
 side in this worn leather case. Her check-books — 
 her letters — the few souvenirs her life had provided. 
 
 She raised the flap lingeringly and lifted out the 
 topmost papers. First to her hand came a bundle 
 of Laurence Asshlin's monthly reports from Orris- 
 town — boyish, spirited records of trivial doings, ill- 
 constructed from a literary point of view, shrewdly 
 humorous in their own peculiar way. These she 
 tossed aside, as things of small account, and turned 
 almost hurriedly to the papers that lay immediately 
 beneath. They proved to be her sister's letters, dat- 
 ing from the time of their parting in London, when 
 Nance had been sent to school. For a space she held 
 them in her hand, while a curious expression, half- 
 antagonistic, half - tender, touched her face; then, 
 with a little sigh, she laid them down again without 
 having turned a page. 
 
 The next object that she drew forth was the faded 
 telegram that, years ago, at the time of Denis Assh- 
 lin's accident, had brought the longed - for news 
 that Milbanke was on his way to Orristown. She 
 opened it, read it, then folded it and replaced it with 
 
 364
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 something of uneasy haste; and again burying her 
 hand in the recesses of the case, brought to Hght 
 another hnk with the past — a large envelope into 
 which were crushed a number of things, among them 
 the first invitation from Lady Frances Plope in 
 Venice; a ribbon that had tied a bouquet of flowers 
 on the dinner - table at the Abbati Restaurant; a 
 Venetian theatre programme; a couple of dry roses 
 that she had worn on the night when Gore had 
 taken her home from the Palazzo Ugochini. Very 
 slowly she drew these trophies forth. Each breathed 
 the romance of things gone by, yet each possessed 
 the poison of present disillusion. As she lifted up 
 the roses her expression became suddenly pained and 
 resentful, and with a fierce impulse she crushed the 
 dry, brown leaves between her fingers, flung them 
 from her across the room, and hurriedly lifted the 
 next object from the writing-case. This last was a 
 large bundle of papers tied together with a black 
 ribbon. 
 
 Lifting it into the light, she looked at it for a long 
 time without attempting to untie the string. It was 
 the collection of her father's scanty correspondence 
 and ill-assorted business letters, which she had bound 
 together the night before her marriage — and had 
 never since opened. 
 
 A curious feeling assailed her now as she looked 
 at these yellowing papers, eloquent of dead days, 
 and at the mourning ribbon, significant of emotions 
 keen and bitter in the living, but buried now under 
 the weight of newer things. How strange, how dis- 
 tant and impersonal the pages seemed ! And yet the 
 time had been when every written line had played its 
 part in some human, personal endeavor! Each docu- 
 ment had represented loss or gain to some individual; 
 
 365
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 each letter had conveyed its fragment of earthly 
 sentiment. Moved .suddenly by the suggestions of 
 the moment, she untied the string. 
 
 A faint, dry odor rose from the loosened papers — 
 the intangible scent that indicates the past. It 
 seemed that some world, distant and forgotten, had 
 suddenly put forth a shadowy hand, pointing she 
 knew not whither. Over her brain, fevered from the 
 night's excitement, fell a stillness — an arresting calm; 
 across her thoughts, distorted by mistaken struggles, 
 glided a memory — a picture. She saw herself as she 
 had been before her marriage, in the far-off, isolated 
 days when life had been a simple thing, when the 
 world outside Orristown had been a golden realm ' 
 lying beyond the sunset. 
 
 How young she had been then! How extraordi- 
 narily, indescribably young! How untrammelled in 
 her actions and sweeping in her judgments! As the 
 old existence pressed about her in a cloud of images, 
 she opened the first letter, but so unsteadily, so 
 agitatedly that, in the opening, five or six of the 
 pages slipped from the packet and fluttered to the 
 writing-table, bringing with them a small, unframed 
 ivory miniature that had been wrapped within the 
 sheets. 
 
 The thin, frag-ile picture dropped with a faint, 
 tinkling- sound. Clodag-h bent forward to recover it, 
 then paused, leaning over the writing-table in an 
 attitude of attention. The miniature lay face up- 
 ward, and in the strong light of the lamp its out- 
 line and colors shone forth distinctly. It represented 
 the head and shoulders of a man in a scarlet coat and 
 hunting-stock — a man of thirty, with a handsome, 
 defiant face, fine eyes, and an obstinate, unreliable 
 mouth. 
 
 366
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 It lay looking up into her face, while she stared 
 back at it as though a ghost had risen from the faded 
 letters. On the night before her marriage she had 
 come upon this miniature of Denis Asshlin; and in a 
 frenzy of renewed grief had thrust it out of sight 
 among the papers she had collected. Then the 
 picture had seemed pitifully sad in its presentment 
 of the dead man in the days of his strength ; now, as 
 she looked upon it in the light of subsequent knowl- 
 edge, it seemed a thing instinct with portent and dread. 
 
 Sharply and cruelly the glamour cast by death re- 
 ceded from AsshUn's memory. She saw him as she 
 had seen him in life — selfish, obstinate, and yet weak. 
 And, quick as the vision came, another followed — 
 the vision of herself — of her own attitude towards 
 her existence and her responsibilities. 
 
 In silent, intent concentration she gazed upon the 
 picture; until at last, seized by an ungovernable im- 
 pulse, half-instinctive reahzation, half-superstitious 
 dread, she caught up the lamp and walked to the 
 dressing-table. There, lifting off the colored shade, 
 she laid it upon the table, and, lifting the mirror, 
 looked fixedly at her own reflection, intensified by 
 the crude, strong light. 
 
 For several minutes she stood quite motionless, 
 her questioning eyes searching the eyes in the glass, 
 her pale face confronting its own reflection. And as 
 she looked, expressions of doubt, of fear, of conviction 
 chased each other across her features. 
 
 The image that confronted her was her father's 
 image, softened by differerwres of age and sex, but 
 fundamentally the same — the image of one who 
 had wasted his life, ignored his duties, squandered 
 the substance of those who were dependent upon him ; 
 one whom even his children had learned to despise. 
 
 367
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 With a sudden sensation of physical faintness she 
 turned from the table. For every folly of Denis 
 Asshlin's there sprang to her mind some correspond- 
 ing folly in her own more brilliant life. How in- 
 efficiently she had worked out her own destiny — she 
 who long ago had been so rigid in her condemnation 
 of him! 
 
 In sudden terror she moved unsteadily across the 
 room and stood leaning against the foot of the oak 
 bedstead; then, all at once, she made a swift, pas- 
 sionate gesture and dropped to her knees. 
 
 "Oh, God!" she whispered wildly. "God! God, 
 who made me! I am afraid!"
 
 XXXVII 
 
 AT eleven o'clock on July 4th Nance was to ar- 
 ^ rive at Tuffncll. Her boat reached Liverpool 
 on the 3d; but it had been arranged that she 
 was to spend the night on board and take an 
 early train to Buckinghamshire on the following 
 morning. 
 
 At ten o'clock Clodagh, wearing a hat and veil 
 and drawing on her gloves, left her bedroom and 
 descended the stairs. Taking advantage of Lady 
 Diana's arrangement that all the guests were at 
 liberty to breakfast in their own rooms, she had 
 elected to avoid the family meal, at which her in- 
 stinct told her Gore would be present. After last 
 night's mental crisis the idea of encountering his 
 polite avoidance would have been intolerable. 
 
 As she passed down - stairs now, with slow and 
 sobered steps, she half paused as the burly figure of 
 George Tuffnell appeared at the open hall-door; but 
 her hesitation was not permitted to last, for instantly 
 her host caught sight of her he came forward hos- 
 pitably. And a new shame woke in her as she real- 
 ized that Lady Diana Tuflfnell had preserved silence 
 even to her husband upon the subject of last night's 
 incident — or at least upon her share in it. 
 
 "Halloo, Mrs. Milbanke!" he cried, cheerfully. 
 " Has the London atmosphere got imported with our 
 guests? These are London hours, you know!" 
 24 369
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 He strode iip to her, followed closely by a couple 
 of dogs, and seized her hand cordially. 
 
 Clodagh gave a little, embarrassed laugh, and in- 
 stantly stooped to caress the dogs. 
 
 "I feel ashamed of myself," she said, hurriedly. 
 "You and Lady Diana must forgive me. But I was 
 very tired last night." 
 
 Tuffnell waived the matter good-naturedly. 
 
 "Don't apologize! Don't mention it! But you 
 should be thinking about the train. I was just com- 
 ing to tell you that the trap is ready whenever you 
 are. It was Di's idea to give you the trap; she said 
 you'd hate a big conveyance that would tempt peo- 
 ple to offer themselves as escorts." He laughed in 
 his hearty, untroubled way. "One of the men will 
 drive you over, but you can get rid of him at tlie 
 station. He'll come back in the dog-cart with Miss 
 Asshlin's luggage." 
 
 Again Clodagh bent to pat the dogs. 
 
 "How kind of Lady Diana!" she murmured. "I 
 haven't seen my little sister for years and years, you 
 know." 
 
 "You'll find her changed, I'll guarantee. Children 
 do spring up." He gave a loud, contented sigh. 
 "But shall I order the trap round? Or do you want 
 to see Di first?" 
 
 "I think I'll — I'll see Lady Diana later — if it will 
 not seem ungracious." 
 
 "Ungracious! Not a bit! I'll get the trap." He 
 turned and swung across the sunny hall, whistling 
 to his dogs; and Clodagh, still quiet and subdued, 
 walked slowly after him to the door. 
 
 No one was about when the small tr:ip was brought 
 round from the stables, followed by Tuffnell and the 
 dogs. And as Clodagh came down the steps the two 
 
 370
 
 THIi GAMBLER 
 
 animals pressed forward with upturned, eager faces; 
 and the friendly appeal in their faithful eyes touched 
 her to remembrance of many gray and misty morn- 
 ings, when Denis Asshlin's high, old-fashioned trap 
 would sweep round from the Orristown stable-yard, 
 and dogs such as these would plead passionately for a 
 share in the impending journey. A dry, painful sen- 
 sation seemed to catch her throat. 
 
 "May they come with me?" she asked, softly. 
 " I love animals. I had to send my own Irish terrier 
 home to Ireland when I gave u]) my house in Italy — 
 and nothing has ever quite taken his place. Do let 
 lb. em come! They would be so good!" 
 
 The two dogs looked swiftly from her face to their 
 master's. 
 
 But George Tuffncll pretended to be stern. 
 
 "No!" he said, loudly. "No! Dick and Tom 
 can't go to the station to-day!" 
 
 Instantly the two tails dropped. 
 
 "Come, Myers!" he called to the groom. "Mrs. 
 Milbanke has no time to spare. Dick! Tom! To 
 heel!" He winked humorously at Clodagh as she 
 stepped into the trap, and a moment later the groom 
 took his seat and ])i(>kcd up the reins. 
 
 Then suddenly he broke into a shout of genial laughter. 
 
 "You villains!" he cried. "Off with you! Away 
 with you!" And with a yelp of wild delight the dogs 
 sped down the avenue. 
 
 Clodagh scarcely noticed the details of that swift 
 drive, for a nervous sense of excitement and trepida- 
 tion banished her powers of observation. And as 
 she stepjied from the little trap and entered the 
 small country station she could scarcely command a 
 steady voice in which to ask whether the train was 
 yet due. 
 
 371
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 The train proved to be overdue by three minutes, 
 and the knowledge brought an added qualm of appre- 
 hension. 
 
 What if little Nance were utterly changed ? What 
 if America had spoiled her? But her thoughts and 
 fears were alike broken in upon by a long, shrill 
 whistle; the expected train loomed round a curve in 
 the line, and a moment later roared its way into the 
 station. 
 
 There was a second of uncertainty; then some- 
 where in the front of the train a door was flung open, 
 a small, slight figure in a muslin dress sped down the 
 platform, and two warm arms were thrown about 
 Clodagh's neck, bridging in one moment the gulf of 
 years. 
 
 The sisters held and kissed each other, regardless 
 of the one or two country passengers who had alighted 
 from the train and the two grooms from Tuffnell 
 who were waiting for Nance's luggage. Then at last 
 the younger girl drew away, and, still holding Clo- 
 dagh's hand, looked at her intently. 
 
 " Oh, Clo!" she cried. " How lovely you are!" 
 
 At the old name, the old, candid admiration, tears 
 rushed suddenly to Clodagh's eyes. 
 
 "I'm not, darling — I'm not. But vou are sweet 
 — and the same, oh, the very same!'' 
 
 She laughed with a break in her voice; then, as 
 two porters came down the platform rolling Nance's 
 luggage, she remembered the necessities of the mo- 
 ment. 
 
 " Is this yours?" 
 
 "Yes; my American clothes. Do I look very 
 American?" 
 
 "You look sweet. Myers," she added to the 
 groom, who had come forward, "this is Miss Asshlin's 
 
 372
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 luggage. And will you please go back in the dog- 
 cart. I want to drive the pony home." 
 
 Myers touched his cap. 
 
 "Very good, ma'am." 
 
 He turned and passed out of the station. 
 
 Nance pressed her sister's hand with one of her old, 
 shy laughs that sounded infinitely sweet from grown- 
 up lips. 
 
 "Clo, I can never get used to your being called 
 'ma'am.' Do you remember the people at San 
 Domenico, who would call you 'signorina,' when 
 poor James — " 
 
 She stopped abruptly, coloring at her unconsidered 
 mention of her brother-in-law. 
 
 "Clo, tell me all about Tuffnell Place!" she sub- 
 stituted, with another sympathetic pressure of her 
 fingers. "Tell me about Lady Diana and Mr. Tuff- 
 nell! I think I should hate to be plain mister if my 
 wife had a title. And all about Lady Frances Hope 
 and Lord Deerehurst and Mr. Serracauld! I'm dying 
 to see all the people you put in your letters. They're 
 like characters in a book — and, of course, you are the 
 heroine! Oh, I'm so happy, Clo!" she cried, ecs- 
 tatically ; " I'm so happy! Do you care for me ? Do 
 you want me much — very much?" 
 
 Her dark -blue eyes searched Clodagh's face, as 
 they had been wont to search it long ago, for, be- 
 neath the pretty manner that time had taught her, 
 her warm, loyal nature had remained unchanged. 
 
 And as Clodagh returned her glance her heart sud- 
 denly sank. Until the moment of her meeting with 
 Nance she had been conscious of only one desire in 
 her regard — the desire to fully confess to her appro- 
 priation of the ;/^iooo. For, in the lull that had 
 followed the previous night's crisis, she had seen this 
 
 373
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 confession as the sole means of regaining self-respect. 
 Her other follies — her gambling, her extravagances — 
 offered no means of redress ; but for this one personal 
 act of weakness she could still do penance. And 
 now, by her very faith, by her very love, Nance had 
 shaken the desire. 
 
 This spontaneous, unsuspicious admiration was 
 the sweetest experience that had come to her for 
 years. She involuntarily returned the pressure of 
 the clinging fingers, as she drew her sister through 
 the sinall gate of the station. She was glad to think 
 that there was the drive home, the moments of ar- 
 rival and of unpacking, before any mention of per- 
 sonal matters could break in upon the present 
 calm. 
 
 Outside the station Nance saw the two dogs for 
 the first time, and insisted upon making friends with 
 them before entering the trap. 
 
 "Did you miss Mick dreadfully when you sent him 
 back to Orristown?" she asked, when at last she took 
 her seat. 
 
 "Dreadfully," Clodagh answered, taking the reins 
 from the groom. "But I didn't know what to do 
 with him when I left the villa. You see, I had no 
 real plans." 
 
 "No, no; of course not. But you'll get him back 
 soon ?" 
 
 "Yes, I want to." Clodagh gathered up tlie reins, 
 and the pony started forward at a swift trot. "But, 
 do you know, Nance, I have thought of going to 
 Orristown in a month or so. Would you like to come 
 to Ireland?" 
 
 "Like to? Oh, Clo, 1 have dreamed and dreamed 
 of our being at Orristown together — just you and 
 me. Can you picture it ? Wearing our oldest clothes 
 
 374
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 — riding and walking and sailing all day long — and 
 making Hannah cook us the mtjst heavenly cakes for 
 tea!" 
 
 vShe clasped her hands rapturously, regardless of 
 her new white gloves. 
 
 Clodagh laughed softly and affectionately. 
 
 "Oh, you child!" she said, almost enviously. 
 
 How sweet and pretty and unaffected she was — 
 this little sister who had suddenly stepped back into 
 her life. An overwhelmingly tender feeling of pro- 
 tectiveness welled up within her — a sudden, deep 
 longing to shelter and guard her, to hedge her round 
 with all that is sacred and fine. 
 
 "Nance," she said, impulsively, "have you ever 
 thought that I behaved badly to you? Behaved un- 
 fairly in any way?" 
 
 "Unfairly?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Nance laughed. 
 
 "You're dreaming, Clo. How could you behave 
 unfairly?" 
 
 "Suppose some one were to tell you that I had?" 
 
 "I shouldn't believe it, that's all." 
 
 "If I were to tell you?" Clodagh's fingers tight- 
 ened on the reins. 
 
 "If you were to tell me that," Nance said, very 
 slowly, "I think it would spoil everything in the 
 world. I believe so — so dreadfully in you. But 
 why talk about it, when it's nonsense?" She shook 
 off the momentary shadow that had fallen between 
 them. " I hate ' ifs,' unless they're very happy ones." 
 
 So Clodagh struggled no more with her conscience 
 during the drive along the shady Buckinghamshire 
 roads. Yielding to the spell of Nance's voice, she 
 lulled the knowledge of iin]jending difficulties, anil 
 
 375
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 opened her ears to the tale of her sister's experiences 
 — of her friends, her acquaintances, her pleasures, 
 her occupations — all poured forth with a perfectly in- 
 genuous egotism that was a refreshment and delight. 
 
 Though they remained together all through the 
 morning and afternoon, the sisters had no further 
 opportunity of a tete-a-tete. Immediately on their 
 arrival at Tuffnell, Lady Diana had graciously made 
 Nance welcome, and had introduced her to her fellow- 
 guests ; and the remainder of the day had been spent, 
 first in tennis and croquet, later in a long coach drive, 
 which included a call upon some neighbors of the 
 Tuffnells. Almost immediately after dinner, how- 
 ever, Clodagh had pleaded that Nance was tired, and 
 had borne her ofE to her own room. There she dis- 
 missed Simonetta, and, closing the door, drew for- 
 ward two chairs to the open window. 
 
 "Now!" she said. "At last! What do you think 
 of Tuffnell — and of everybody?" She sank into one 
 of the chairs with a little sigh. 
 
 But Nance, instead of answering, tiptoed across 
 the room, and, bending over the back of her chair, 
 gave her a long, impulsive kiss. 
 
 "Darling!" she cried. "Clo! You are so lovely! 
 I am so proud of you!" 
 
 Clodagh pressed her cheeks against the warm lips, 
 then drew Nance round to the side of her chair. 
 
 "Talk to me," she said. "Tell me whether you 
 like Tuffnell?" 
 
 Nance gave a little laugh of inconsequent happi- 
 ness, and nestled down at her sister's feet. 
 
 "Tuffnell is heavenly. But there are only four 
 nice people here." 
 
 "Four nice people? What do you mean?" 
 
 376
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "What I say. There are only four nice people 
 here — you, of course" — she lifted one of Clodagh's 
 hands and pressed it against her lips — "and Lady 
 Diana Tuffnell, and Mr. Tuffnell, and that nice, fair 
 man with the sunburned face." 
 
 Clodagh withdrew her hand from her sister's. 
 
 "Sir Walter Gore?" 
 
 "Yes. Don't you think him nice?" 
 
 "I_? Oh, I— I don't know." 
 
 "But why? He likes you." 
 
 Clodagh gave a quick, unsteady laugh and sank 
 back into her chair. 
 
 "Dear little Nance! What a baby you are! If 
 there is one person in the world who does not like 
 me, it is Sir Walter Gore." 
 
 With a sudden movement of interest Nance sat up 
 and looked at her sister. 
 
 " But he does, Clo," she said. " I saw him looking 
 at you over and over again, when you were talking 
 to other people. He likes you. Oh, he does like 
 you! And he doesn't care one bit for Lady Frances 
 Hope, though she follows him everywhere he goes — " 
 
 But Clodagh sat suddenly upright, and with an 
 abrupt gesture put her hand on her sister's shoulder. 
 
 "Nance," she said, sharply, "you are talking about 
 things that you don't understand. Don't talk about 
 them. It — it annoys me." 
 
 "But Clo—" 
 
 For answer Clodagh stooped and kissed her almost 
 nervously. 
 
 "When you are older, Nance, you will know that 
 it is tactless to talk of certain things to certain peo- 
 ple. Don't talk to me again of Sir Walter Gore. He 
 and I have nothing to do with each other. We — we 
 belong to different worlds." 
 
 377
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Once more she bent and kissed Nance's startled, 
 penitent face, and, putting her gently from her, rose 
 and walked to the window. 
 
 For some minutes there was silence in the room ; 
 then Clodagh spoke in a completely different voice. 
 
 "Nance," she said, "there is something I want to 
 tell you — something I should have written to you, 
 and didn't — " 
 
 Nance, in the swift relief of her sister's altered tone, 
 sprang to her feet, and, running across the room, 
 threw her arms about her. 
 
 "And Clo, there's something I ought to have 
 written to you, only I was too shy — and had to wait 
 till I could say it like this, with my arms round you — " 
 
 It was Clodagh's turn to look startled. She tried 
 to hold Nance away from her, that she might see her 
 face, btit Nance only clung the closer. 
 
 "Clo, you love me? Oh, say you love me!" 
 
 "Of course I love you." 
 
 "And you won't be vexed?" 
 
 "Nance, what is it? You frighten me! What 
 
 is it?" 
 
 "Oh, it's nothing frightening. It's — it's about 
 
 Pierce — Pierce Estcoit — " 
 
 The words came forth with a tremendous gasp. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "He — Clo, he wants to marry me. You're not 
 vexed? Oh, Clo, you're not vexed?" 
 
 At last Nance's arms relaxed, and she looked up 
 beseechingly into her sister's face. 
 
 In sudden, nervous relief and amusement Clo- 
 dagh laughed; then her face became grave again, and 
 she drew her sister to her with deep, impulsive ten- 
 derness. 
 
 "Vexed, darling?" she said. "Vexed?" 
 
 378
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Nance kissed her ecstatically. 
 
 "Oh, the relief of having it said!" she cried. "I 
 have felt like a criminal, keeping it to myself. But 
 Pierce said I could do more with one word than a 
 dozen letters. 
 
 Clodagh looked down into the pretty, eager face, 
 and laughed again softly, though her eyes were full 
 of tears. 
 
 "Pierce was right," she said. "I don't think any 
 one could say more in one word than you could. 
 But do you love him, Nance? Do you love him? 
 That is the great, great thing. And you are so very 
 young." A look of keen anxiety crossed her face, 
 and she gazed into Nance's eyes, as if striving to 
 read her heart. 
 
 Nance returned her look with a steadfast gravity, 
 curious in one so young. 
 
 "Next to you, Clo, he's the best person in all the 
 world," she said. 
 
 The tears in Clodagh's eyes brimmed over. 
 
 " You put me first ? Really, Nance? Really?" 
 
 Nance nodded seriouKly. 
 
 "And next to you, he's the very best. Btit, Clo" 
 — she blushed deeply — "he wants me to marry him 
 soon — fearfully soon — in the autumn. He's coming 
 over with Mrs. Estcoit and Daisy in three weeks' 
 time to try and persuade you Clo, you're not 
 vexed ? He has promised that we shall be together 
 more than half every year, if you wish." 
 
 Clodagh, touched by a pang of loneliness, turned 
 away and gazed through the open window across the 
 sleeping country. 
 
 " And you love him ? You are certain that you 
 love him?" She turned again and laid her hands 
 on her sister's shoulders. 
 
 379
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Nance's gaze, wise in its very youthfulness, met 
 hers unflinchingly. 
 
 •'I care for him like I care for you, Clo. And I've 
 cared for you always." 
 
 Clodagh drew a long breath. 
 
 "Then I am satisned. I shall not keep you from 
 happiness." With a quiet movement she bent for- 
 ward and kissed the soft hair above Nance's fore- 
 head. 
 
 After this seal of love both were ?ilent for a min- 
 ute or two ; then Nance spoke again , her lashes lowered, 
 her fingers twisted tightly about her sister's. 
 
 "Clo, doesn't it seem wonderful that he should 
 care for me — he, who is so bright and c-lever and 
 rich? But I've been lucky in everything, haven't I ? 
 I haven't liked to say it before, but wasn't it awfully 
 kind — awfully good of Jame^?" 
 
 Clodagh half withdrew her hand. In the surpris- 
 ing news that Nance had given her she had forgotten 
 the confession she had still to make. 
 
 "Clo, wasn't it awfully kind of him ?" 
 
 Clodagh did not answer at once, and when she did 
 so her voice was strained. 
 
 "To leave you that money? — that thousand 
 pounds?" 
 
 "Yes, the thousand pounds. Clo, you don't know 
 the dozens and dozens of times it has made me happy 
 to think of that since — since Pierce has caied for me. 
 It isn't that I like money for itself, but when one 
 is horribly poor one is sensitive about marrying a 
 millionaire. I mean, you know — " Again her fin- 
 gers clung to her sister's. 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " One feels that one would like to come to him with 
 everything that — well — that his sister would have 
 
 380
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 if she married. It's very silly, of course. Clodagh, 
 do I seem very silly ?" 
 
 At anv other time Clodagh would have smiled at 
 the ingeauousness of the words; but now some feel- 
 ing within herself banished amusement. 
 
 "What is il , darling.?" she asked. "There's some- 
 thing you are trying to say." 
 
 Nance looked up into her face. 
 
 "Clo, it's all this stupid pride. Of course, Pierce 
 and Daisy and Mrs. Estcoit know that I have nothing 
 except my share in Orristown — which, of course, is 
 nothing. And I know that for all the rest of my 
 life I shall be dependent on Pierce for everything. 
 But it's ju5'.t because of that that I want to come 
 to him with all the things — the clothes and things 
 — that other girls have. Oh, I know it's hateful of 
 me, it's weik and vain." 
 
 Clodagh pressed her hand suddenly. 
 
 "No, darling. I understand." 
 
 "You do? Oh, Clo! Dear Clo! Then you know 
 what the thousand pounds seems like! A thousand 
 pounds, all my own! Money of my own to buy beau- 
 tiful things with — things like Daisy's — things like 
 yours! I, who have never had a penny that really 
 belonged to me! And Clodagh, may I have it soon? 
 That's whft I want to say. May I have it soon? I 
 won't spend it all, of course — not half — nor quarter — " 
 She laughed. "But may I have it soon? It — it 
 would be heaven!" 
 
 With a swift, involuntary movement Clodagh freed 
 her hrnd. 
 
 "Clo, I have said too much! I have asked too 
 much!" 
 
 "No, darling. No. No." 
 
 "Ihen I've tired you! Clo, you're tired!" She 
 
 381
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 caught Clodagh's hand again. "And you wanted to 
 tell me something. Oh, I've been selfish! Won't 
 you forgive me, and say it now?" 
 
 But Clodagh turned from her and walked to the 
 writing-table — the table on which her father's minia- 
 ture had rested the night before. 
 
 "No, I won't talk to-night, darling," she said, 
 without looking round. " 1 — I think I have for- 
 gotten what I was going to say,"
 
 XXXVIII 
 
 THE key-note of Clodagh's character was impulse. 
 She loved, she hated, she was generous, she was 
 foolish, with a wide impulsiveness. 
 
 When Nance had spoken of her engagement, her 
 unselfish joy and relief in the security it promised 
 had aroused a renewed desire for self-sacrifice, as 
 represented by confession of her weakness ; but a 
 moment later, when Nance had spoken of Milbanke's 
 legacy — of her innocent joy in its existence— of her 
 innocent desire for its possession — the wish had fal- 
 tered. She had given her tacit agreement that the 
 ;;^iooo should be placed in Nance's hands. The ;(^iooo, 
 of which the greater portion had already gone to swell 
 the coffers of London tradesmen or fill the pockets of 
 her fashionable friends. 
 
 That was her position on the night of Nance's 
 confidence; and on the following morning she woke 
 with an oppressive sense that action must be taken 
 in some direction. 
 
 The whole house - party, with the exception of 
 Deerehurst, put in an appearance at the early break- 
 fast. And as Clodagh entered the breakfast - room 
 her spirits rallied a little at the sight of the crowded 
 table; and she took her place between George Tuff- 
 nell and Serracauld with a sense of respite. 
 
 Lady Diana, who was occu])ying her usual place 
 at the head of the table, had borne Nance off to sit 
 
 383
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 beside her; while Lady Frances, looking a little worn 
 in the searching morning light, was keeping Mrs. 
 Bathurst, Mansfeldt, and Gore amused. 
 
 The breakfast was not a long meal, and at its con- 
 clusion Lady Diana looked round the table. 
 
 "Now, people," she said, amiably, "what are the 
 morning's plans? You know you are none of you 
 to forget my dance to-night, and tire yourselves!" 
 
 Mrs. Bathurst turned to her with her pretty, lan- 
 guid smile. 
 
 "I'm going to play croquet with Mr. Mansfeldt," 
 she announced. "Nice, lazy, old-fashioned croquet. 
 We shall turn up at lunch -time." 
 
 "And you, Walter?" Lady Diana asked. "Will 
 you drive over with me to Wynchley ? We might 
 take Frances and " ^ — again she looked round the 
 party — "and Miss Asshlin." 
 
 But Nance glanced quickly down the table to 
 where her sister sat. 
 
 Clodagh caught the questioning look and bent her 
 head. 
 
 "Yes. Go with Lady Diana," she said, affection- 
 ately. "It's very sweet of her to take you." 
 
 Nance smiled shyly. 
 
 "I know," she said, looking from Clodagh to her 
 hostess. 
 
 Lady Diana returned the smile. 
 
 "It's sweet of your sister to spare you to me." 
 
 While she was speaking, Serracauld turned to 
 Clodagh. 
 
 "Will you give me the morning?" he said, in an 
 undertone. 
 
 She drew back and laughed a little. 
 
 "What a conceited suggestion! Fancy throwing 
 my little sister over to spend the morning with you!" 
 
 384
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 He looked at her unabashed; and, as Tuffnell 
 turned to address his neighbor, he bent close to her 
 again. 
 
 "You're very hard on me. When will you be 
 really, properly kind?" 
 
 "Oh, sometime — perhaps." Clodagh's tone was 
 careless and light. 
 
 "This morning, then ? Come for a ride with me?" 
 
 She laughed once more and shook her head. 
 
 " I have a letter — a terrible business letter — that 
 must be written — a letter to Mr. Barnard." 
 
 Serracauld raised his eyebrows a trifle satirically. 
 
 "To Barny? Ah, then I sha'n't press the point. 
 But how many dances am I to have to-night?" 
 
 "Dances? You know I sha'n't dance." She glanced 
 down at her black linen dress. 
 
 He smiled a little. 
 
 "Am I a school-boy that I should want to dance? 
 How many dances are we to sit out?" 
 
 "To sit out? Oh, I'll— I'll tell you that when 
 we've sat out one." Without looking at him, she 
 pushed back her chair as Lady Diana rose. 
 
 "Then let that be the first dance?" 
 
 She nodded inconsequently. 
 
 "Perhaps. The first dance." She stood up and, 
 joining the rest of the company , moved down the room. 
 
 As she gained the door Nance ran to her. 
 
 "Clo, darhng! Can't I stay with you?" 
 
 Clodagh smiled down into the eager, upturned face. 
 
 "Not this morning. I have a business letter to 
 write." 
 
 "Then I must go?" Nance's face fell. 
 
 "Must, darling." 
 
 " But, Clo, you'll think of me — and love me — all 
 the time you're writing the horrid thing?" 
 
 »s 385
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Clodagh laughed; then all at once her face looked 
 grave. 
 
 "Dearest," she said, suddenly, "you don't know 
 how much!" And without explaining her words, or 
 waiting for Nance to speak again, she passed quickly 
 across the hall and up the stairs. 
 
 Four different times Clodagh began her letter to 
 Barnard. Sitting by the writing-table close to the 
 open window of her bedroom, she watched the vari- 
 ous members of the house-party depart on their dif- 
 ferent ways; but the quieter and more deserted the 
 house became, the more impossible it seemed to her 
 to accomplish the task she had in hand. At last, 
 with a gesture of despair, she tore up the half-written 
 letters that lay strewn about her; and, rising from 
 the table with a sigh of vexation, left the room, clos- 
 ing the door softly. 
 
 With a frown of unhappiness and perplexity still 
 upon her forehead, she descended the stairs, crossed 
 the hall, and, passing round the back of the house, 
 made her way to the rose garden. 
 
 The rose garden at Tuffnell was always a place of 
 beauty ; but in the month of July it was a paradise of 
 scent and color. Down its centre ran a long strip 
 of close-cut lawn, flanked on either side by stone 
 seats and stone nymphs and satyrs, brought from an 
 old Italian garden; on the high wall, that preserved 
 to the place an absolute seclusion, a dozen peacocks 
 sunned themselves gorgeously; while over the entire 
 enclosure grew — and climbed — and drooped — roses ; 
 roses of every shade and of every size ; roses that 
 filled the air with a warm scent that seemed at once 
 to mingle with and to hold the summer sun. 
 
 She paused for an instant upon entering this en- 
 
 ^86
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 chanted garden, and drew a deep breath of involun- 
 tary deHght; then, walking slowly, as though haste 
 might desecrate such beauty, she passed down the 
 long, smooth lawn that formed an alley of greenness 
 amid the pink and crimson of the flowers. 
 
 Pausing at the farther end, she stood, soothed by 
 the sights and scent about her, until suddenly a 
 harsh, disturbed cry from one of the peacocks broke 
 the spell. She turned sharply and saw Deerehurst 
 standing close behind her. 
 
 "I saw you from my dressing-room window," he 
 said, in answer to her look of surprise. "Was it 
 very presumptuous of me to follow you?" 
 
 The cold, familiar voice banished the thought of 
 the roses. Her vexations and perplexities came back 
 upon her abruptly, causing her face to cloud over. 
 
 "No," she said, hastily. "No. I— I think I am 
 glad to see you. I am in a hopeless mood to-day. 
 Things won't go right." 
 
 He took her hand and bent over it, with even more 
 than his usual deference, although his cold eyes shot 
 a swift glance at her distressed face. 
 
 "But you must not say that," he said, softly. 
 "Things can always be compelled to go right." 
 
 She shook her head despondently. 
 
 "Not for me." 
 
 He freed her hand gently, and pointed to one of 
 the stone seats that stood under the shadow of the 
 rose bushes. 
 
 "Shall we sit down?" he said. "There is a great 
 deal of repose to be found in this garden of Lady 
 Diana's. She had it copied many years ago from 
 my rose garden at Ambleigh." 
 
 Clodagh looked up at him as they moved together 
 across the grass. 
 
 387
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Indeed!" she said. "From your rose garden?" 
 
 "Yes; she and Tuffnell stayed with me at Am- 
 bleigh shortly after they were married — when my 
 sister was ahve. And Lady Diana fell in love with 
 my rose garden. I remember I sent a couple of my 
 gardeners down here to plant this one for her. It is 
 an exact reproduction, on a smaller scale." 
 
 There was silence while they seated themselves; 
 then Clodagh, looking meditatively in front of her 
 at the evil face of one of the stone satyrs, spoke sud- 
 denly and impulsively. 
 
 "I envy you," she said. 
 
 "You envy me?" There was a curious, almost an 
 eager, tone in Deerehurst's voice ; but she was too pre- 
 occupied to hear it. 
 
 "All people are to be envied who have power — and 
 freedom. I get so tired of myself sometimes. So 
 rebelHous against myself. I am always doing the 
 things I should not do, and failing to do the things I 
 should. I am hopeless." 
 
 For a space he made no attempt to break in upon 
 her mood; then, very quietly, he bent forward and 
 looked up into her face. 
 
 "What is worrying you?" he asked, in a whisper. 
 "Confession really is very good for the soul." 
 
 For a moment she answered nothing; then, yield- 
 ing to an impulse, she met his scrutinizing eyes. 
 
 "Oh, it's only a letter that won't let itself be writ- 
 ten — one of those abominable letters that one has 
 to write. Talking of it does no good." 
 
 " No good ? I am not so sure of that. I believe 
 in talking. Tell me about it." 
 
 Clodagh laid her hand nervously on the arm of the 
 seat. 
 
 "I have been stupid," she said, almost defiantly. 
 
 388
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "I have overstepped my allowance, and must ask Mr. 
 Barnard to advance me some money. And — and I, 
 somehow, hate to do it. Am 1 not a fool.''" She 
 laughed unsteadily, and turned to look at her com- 
 panion, but he had drawn back into the shadow of 
 the seat. "Oh, it's childish! Ridiculous! I am dis- 
 gusted with myself!" Her glance again crossed the 
 strip of green lawn to where the stone satyr stood. 
 
 Quite silently Deerehurst bent forward again. 
 
 "What is the amount?" he asked, softly. 
 
 "A thousand pounds." 
 
 "And is Barnard such a very great friend ?" 
 
 Clodagh started. 
 
 "No! Oh no! Why?" She turned quickly and 
 looked at him. 
 
 "Because I wish to know why it should be Bar- 
 nard?" 
 
 There was a long silence, in which she felt her 
 heart beat uncomfortably fast. A sudden surprise 
 — a sudden confusion — filled her. Then, through the 
 confusion, she was conscious that Deerehurst was 
 speaking again. 
 
 "Why should you think of Barnard?" he mur- 
 mured. " Barnard is not a rich man. To advance 
 you a thousand pounds may possibly inconvenience 
 him ; whereas a man who need not consider ways and 
 means — " 
 
 Clodagh sat very still. 
 
 "Yes. But I think—" 
 
 " And why think ?" He spoke calmly, considerately, 
 without a tinge of disturbing emotion. " Why think ? 
 Why write that troublesome letter? Why ask a 
 favor when by granting one — " 
 
 "Granting one — ?" 
 
 "Yes. When by granting a favor, you can make 
 
 389
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 everything smooth. Thmk what it would be to me, 
 for instance, if some of the money I am saddled with 
 were used to bring you happiness — or peace! Think 
 of the favor you would be doing me!" 
 
 She half rose, then sank back again. 
 
 "Oh, but I couldn't! How could I ?" 
 
 "And why not? Look! I have only to open my 
 check-book" — he very quietly drew a check-book 
 from his breast-pocket — "find the all-powerful pen" 
 — he searched for and produced a gold pen — "and — 
 look!" 
 
 He wrote rapidly for a moment, then held a flutter- 
 ing white paper in front of Clodagh's eyes. 
 
 "Look!" 
 
 With a little start, a little cry of deprecation, she 
 rose from her seat. In a flash of memory she re- 
 called the night on the balcony at Venice, when he 
 had kissed her hand; she recalled the letter she had 
 found awaiting her in her room at the hotel. In 
 sudden fear she glanced at him. Then her fear fal- 
 tered. To her searching eyes he presented the same 
 aspect he had assumed since their first meeting in 
 London — the aspect of a tried, deferential friend. 
 
 "How could I?" she asked again; but uncon- 
 sciously her tone had weakened. 
 
 For answer Deerehurst folded up the check and 
 held it out to her with a respectful, almost a formal, 
 bow. 
 
 " By extending to me the merest act of friendship." 
 
 She sat very still, not attempting to take the 
 check. 
 
 "I — I could not repay it before January — perhaps 
 not entirely even then." 
 
 "January, or any time. I understand the art of 
 patience." 
 
 390
 
 I -I fori. I) .NOT Kl•l■\^ ir hi-ioki- i \ \ i \ km
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 For one moment longer her uncertain glance wan- 
 dered from the slip of paper to the glowing rose 
 bushes; from the roses to the cold, malignant face of 
 the satyr that confronted her across the strip of 
 grass. 
 
 "You — you are very kind. In — in January, then." 
 Deerehurst bowed again. And in complete silence 
 the check passed from his hand to hers.
 
 XXXIX 
 
 ACTION — decisive action — always brings relief. 
 I An hour after it had come into her possession 
 Clodagh had despatched Deerehurst's check to her 
 bankers in London; and when, at seven o'clock, she 
 entered Nance's room with the intention of dressing 
 for the night's festivities, she was carrying a check 
 from her own book. 
 
 As she came into the room Nance was kneeling 
 before her trunk; but at the sound of the closing 
 door she looked round, and then sprang to her feet 
 with a cry of delight. 
 
 "Clo!" she cried, running forward. "Clo, how 
 lovely of you to come! Shall we dress together, like 
 long ago?" Then her eyes fell to the folded slip of 
 paper in Clodagh's hand. "What is that?" she 
 asked, curiously. 
 
 Clodagh looked down at the check. 
 
 "I have come to do my duty," she said, with a 
 faint laugh. " Here is your thousand pounds, dar- 
 ling. May it be enough to buy everything in life 
 worth having!" 
 
 Her voice faltered on the last words ; but the touch 
 of emotion was lost in a sudden embrace from Nance. 
 
 "Oh, you darling — you love!" she cried. "A 
 thousand ^jounds! I feel a queen!" She drew back 
 a little, flushing with excitement and pleasure, and 
 opened the check almost reverently. "And can I 
 
 392
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 really, really get a thousand pounds by signing my 
 name on the back of this? I can't believe it, you 
 know — I simply can't." 
 
 She raised her shining eyes to Clodagh's. 
 
 Clodagh's face softened. 
 
 "Oh, you child!" she said. "You child! It 
 makes me remember our weekly pennies just to 
 listen to you. How poor — and how very happy — 
 we were long ago! Do you remember?" 
 
 Nance gave a little cry of recollection. 
 
 "Remember, Clo! Could I forget?" 
 
 Then followed another impulsive embrace, a kiss, 
 and a whole torrent of reminiscence. And a quarter 
 of an hour had slipped away before the entrance of 
 Simonetta, with Clodagh's dress, recalled them to 
 the knowledge of present things. 
 
 Five minutes before the dinner-hour had struck, 
 the sisters entered the hall. At the foot of the stairs 
 Nance was detained by George Tuflfnell; while Clo- 
 dagh, left alone for the moment, was at once claimed 
 by Serracauld. 
 
 He came forward from one of the windows, moving 
 with his usual graceful indolence, and, pausing beside 
 her, looked intently into her face. 
 
 "You look radiant to-night," he said. 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 " Can one ever look radiant in black?" 
 
 Serracauld's eyes passed slowly from her face to her 
 slim, white neck. 
 
 "Yes," he said, in his cool, deliberate voice. 
 
 She gave another laugh, slightly shorter and more 
 conscious than the last. But before she could speak 
 again he moved a trifle nearer, and laid his fingers 
 lightly on her fan. 
 
 "And how many dances am I to have?" 
 
 393
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "I told you I must not dance — yet." 
 
 "And I told you that I would not make you dance. 
 How many may I have?" 
 
 He bent very close to her, then frowned a little 
 and drew away again as Lady Frances Hope, fol- 
 lowed by her special coterie, came towards them 
 across the hall. 
 
 "You'll give me the dances?" he asked, quickly. 
 
 Clodagh glanced at the approaching party, then 
 bent her head in assent. 
 
 "And which?" 
 
 His tone was eager. 
 
 "The first — at least," she said. 
 
 With a faint, satisfied smile he turned and moved 
 away. 
 
 Dinner that night was a very lively meal. Every- 
 body seemed imbued with the spirit of the coming 
 ball, and anxious to display a personal sense of an- 
 ticipation. After the company had risen from table, 
 Clodagh and Nance met again in the hall by previous 
 arrangement and retired to their rooms, that Simo- 
 netta might put some finishing touches to their hair 
 and dresses, and that they might get the bouquets 
 they were to carry at the dance. 
 
 As they mounted the staircase side by side, Nance, 
 after the custom of old days, slipped her arm through 
 her sister's. 
 
 "Clo," she said, softly, "you are excited, too! I 
 can feel it." 
 
 Clodagh smiled a little. 
 
 "Well, it is my first dance." 
 
 Nance halted and looked at her. 
 
 "Why, of course it is! And you must feel like I 
 did the night of Mrs. Estcoit's ball. The night — " 
 She stopped, blushing. 
 
 394
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Oh, darling," she added, "fancy my not reahzing 
 that you had never been to a dance! It must feel 
 lovely and strange to you!" 
 
 Clodagh drew her onward up the stairs. 
 
 "Yes; it does feel different from anything else. 
 Of course, I sha'n't dance; but then people may ask 
 me to — to sit out." 
 
 "May? I wonder who won't ask you!" 
 
 Nance's eyes spoke volumes as they travelled from 
 her sister's face to the long lines of her soft black 
 dress. 
 
 Arrested by the look, Clodagh spoke again, abrupt- 
 ly, and a little anxiously. 
 
 "Nance, why do you say that?" 
 
 "Say what?" 
 
 " That people would ask me for dances — that peo- 
 ple would care?" 
 
 Again Nance paused and looked at her. 
 
 " I am nearly angry with you for asking anything 
 so silly," she said, after a second's pause. "But I 
 won't be. I'll forgive you. Though you know per- 
 fectly well that there isn't a man here who wouldn't 
 sit out — or dance — or do anything in the world with 
 you, from now till Doomsday." 
 
 She looked up laughingly, but as she did so her 
 own expression fell. 
 
 "Clo, you're angry?' 
 
 Clodagh patted the hand that lay upon her wrist. 
 
 "Angry, darling? No. Only thinking how wrong 
 you are." 
 
 "Wrong?" 
 
 "Yes; I know one man who would not dance with 
 me, even if — if I were to offer him a dance — " 
 
 She made the confession swiftly, in obedience to 
 a sudden impulse. 
 
 395
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Nance looked at her afresh in involuntary curi- 
 osity. 
 
 "Clo— " 
 
 But Clodagh raised her head in a half-defiant re- 
 turn to reticence. 
 
 "Don't mind me," she said. "After all, no one 
 man should fill anybody's world, should he? Come 
 along! It's half-past nine, and I hear the first car- 
 riages." 
 
 And without waiting for Nance to reply, she swept 
 her down the corridor to the door of her bedroom. 
 
 The k-resence of Simonetta precluded the possibility 
 of further confidences; and ten minutes later, as the 
 sisters again emerged upon the corridor, the appear- 
 ance of Lady Frances Hope from the door of her own 
 room deprived Nance of the moment for which she 
 had been waiting. 
 
 Seeing them, Lady Frances -came forward smil- 
 ingly. 
 
 "How charming!" she said. "A study in black 
 and white! Where did those wonderful roses come 
 from, Clodagh ? They are nearly as dark as your 
 dress?" 
 
 Clodagh looked down at the damask roses in her 
 hand. 
 
 "Yes. Aren't they nearly black?" she said, easily. 
 "I was saying to Lord Deerehurst the other day that 
 there were no flowers one could wear in mourning. 
 And to-day I found these in my room. He had wired 
 for them to Ambleigh. It was very thoughtful of 
 him." 
 
 Lady Frances gave an odd little smile. 
 
 "Very," she said. "I wonder if he meant them 
 to be mourning. I believe there was a language of 
 flower<= when he was young." 
 
 396
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 She gave a short, amused laugh and turned to 
 Nance. 
 
 "And this is your first EngHsh dance, Miss Assh- 
 Hn?" 
 
 Nance, whose eyes had been flashing from one face 
 to the other, gave a little start at being so suddenly 
 addressed. 
 
 "Yes — yes; it is. I came out in America." 
 
 "Then you can tell us in the morning which men 
 make the nicest partners, English or American." 
 
 Nance laughed, and Clodagh, with the new, pro- 
 tective instinct, put out her hand and drew her close 
 to her. 
 
 "Nance has made her choice," she said, impulsive- 
 ly. "The field is not open to Englishmen. But let 
 us go down-stairs. We are barely in time." 
 
 At the foot of the stairs the three turned to the 
 left, and made their way to the ballroom through the 
 throng of arriving guests. 
 
 Entering the long room, they moved slowly for- 
 ward to where Lady Diana and her husband were 
 receiving their guests. 
 
 Reaching Lady Diana's side, Clodagh felt her heart 
 beat quicker as she caught sight of Gore's fair head 
 and tall, straight figure. And a strange sense of re- 
 peated sensation surged about her. It might almost 
 have been the night at the Palazzo Ugochini, when 
 Lady Frances Hope had held her reception. Her 
 hand felt a little unsteady as she laid it over Nance's ; 
 her voice sounded low and uncertain as she spoke 
 her hostess's name. 
 
 "Lady Diana," she said, "here is Nance. You 
 told me to bring her to you before the first dance." 
 
 At her tone, so very soft and pleading. Lady 
 Diana turned, and a smile — the first real smile she 
 
 397
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 had given her since the episode of two nights ago — 
 broke over her face. 
 
 "Yes," she said, with sudden geniaUty. "Yes; 
 that is quite right. Leave her with me; I will find 
 her the nicest men." She paused, and her eyes trav- 
 elled kindly from Clodagh's face to her black dress. 
 
 "And you? Won't you have some partners?" 
 Her glance swept the little group about her. " Walter, 
 Mrs. Milbanke won't dance, but — " 
 
 At the moment that she spoke, Serracauld's light 
 voice sounded from behind them, and his slim figure 
 emerged from the surrounding crowd. 
 
 "Ah, here you are, Mrs. Milbanke! I have a 
 strong suspicion that I am only just in time. Where 
 shall we go? Into the music -room, or out into 
 the garden?" Supremely ignoring the rest of the 
 group, he offered Clodagh his arm and led her out 
 into the throng at the moment that the swaying 
 notes of the first waltz floated down from the musi- 
 cians' gallery. 
 
 With a faint disappointment, warring with a faint 
 elation, Clodagh suffered him to guide her down the 
 long ballroom. Life seemed suddenly a brighter 
 thing than it had seemed for days. Nance was \v-ith 
 her ; Lady Diana had smiled on her again ; and only a 
 moment ago she had met Gore's eyes in almost the 
 first direct glance they had exchanged since his com- 
 ing to Tuffnell. She lifted her head in response to a 
 sudden > excited happiness, as the dancers flashed past 
 her over the polished floor and the deep, long notes 
 of the violins vibrated on the air. 
 
 Unconsciously her fingers tightened on Serracauld's 
 arm, and in an instant response he paused. 
 
 "Can you resist?" he said. 
 
 She looked up at him. The color had rushed into 
 
 398
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 her face with the emotion of the moment. An in- 
 ordinate longing to be young — to enjoy— to be as 
 the crowd about her — swept her mind imperiously. 
 
 A peculiar look crossed Serracauld's eyes. 
 
 "Just for two minutes?" he whispered. "No one 
 will see you in the first crush. There is no waltz like 
 this!" Almost before she was aware of it, he had 
 slipped his arm round her waist. 
 
 For one instant a gleam of surprise — of alarm — 
 showed in her face; then the long, persuasive notes 
 of the stringed instruments dropped to a lower, more 
 enticing key. She yielded to the pressure of Serra- 
 cauld's arm, and the two glided in among the dancers. 
 
 They made the half-circuit of the room, escaping 
 the observation of the house-party at its farther end, 
 and as they reached the door Clodagh pressed her 
 hand detainingly on his arm. 
 
 He paused. 
 
 "Tired?" he asked, looking down into her flushed 
 face and brilliant eyes. 
 
 She shook her head faintly. Her heart was still 
 beating too fast — her brain still felt too elated — to 
 notice the ardor and the intentness of his glance. 
 
 "We must stop," she said, softly. "You know, 
 even the two minutes were stolen." 
 
 He slowly withdrew his arm from her waist, but 
 still kept his eyes on hers. 
 
 " I suppose all the things in life worth having are 
 come by dishonestly," he said, lightly. Then, in a 
 lower tone, he added, " Do you know that you dance 
 — gloriously ?" 
 
 Clodagh made no answer. Her mind was more 
 occupied with the dance just gone through than with 
 the partner who had shared it. And for the moment 
 Serracauld was content with her silence. 
 
 399
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Leaving the ballroom, they passed together down 
 a long corridor that ended in a short flight of stairs, 
 leading to the card-room. 
 
 At the foot of these stairs Serracauld paused, 
 struck by a new idea. 
 
 "Suppose we look into the card-room?" he said. 
 " I believe it will be deserted at this early hour." 
 
 Clodagh assented. 
 
 "If you like," she said. "It would be rather nice 
 to find a quiet spot." And, leading the way with 
 careless unconcern, she began to mount the stairs. 
 
 The door of the card-room was open. The baize- 
 covered tables were arranged for play; but only one 
 small, green-shaded lamp had been hghted; and the 
 window was uncurtained and open to the still sum- 
 mer night. 
 
 She paused on the threshold, and Serracauld stepped 
 quickly to her side. 
 
 "It might almost have been arranged for us," he 
 said. "Won't you go in?" 
 
 She waited for a moment longer; then she walked 
 slowly forward and paused beside one of the tables. 
 
 Very quietly her companion closed the door, and, 
 crossing the room softly, paused close behind her. 
 
 "Do you know that you dance gloriously?" he 
 said again. "But I always knew you would. A 
 waltz with you is one of the things I promised my- 
 self a long time ago." 
 
 As he spoke, Clodagh was conscious that his shoul- 
 der almost brushed hers. With a faintly uneasy move- 
 ment she raised her head. 
 
 "What do you mean?" she asked, turning and 
 meeting his eyes. 
 
 In the dim light of the room there was something 
 curious, new, and alarming in the glance she en- 
 
 400
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 countered. He was standing exceedingly near; his 
 face looked very pale; the pupils of his eyes were 
 dilated, giving them a peculiar, unfamiliar look. 
 
 Embarrassed, and yet doubtful that her embar- 
 rassment was justified, she turned away, and, ner- 
 vously taking a pack of cards from the table, began 
 to pass them through her fingers. 
 
 "I don't know what you mean," she said again. 
 "I don't understand." 
 
 Quite suddenly Serracauld laughed, and, passing 
 his arms over hers, caught her hands, so that the 
 cards fluttered to the table. 
 
 "Nonsense!" he said, in a sharp, whispering voice. 
 "Nonsense! The prettiest woman of the season not 
 understand!" 
 
 He laughed again, and with a swift movement freed 
 her hands, and, clasping her suddenly and closely, 
 forced her head backward and bent his face to hers. 
 
 The action was not so much a kiss as a vehement, 
 almost painful, pressure of his lips upon her mouth — 
 something that stung her to resentment rather than 
 to fear — to revolt rather than to shame. 
 
 For one instant she remained passive; the next 
 she had freed herself with the muscular activity that 
 had always belonged to her slight, supple frame. 
 
 As she drew away from him she was trembling, and 
 her face was white; but there was a look he had 
 never imagined in her eyes and on her lips. For 
 one moment it seemed that she meant to speak. 
 Then her lips closed. She turned away from him 
 and walked out of the room without a word. 
 
 a6
 
 XL 
 
 HARDLY conscious of her movements, Clodagh 
 left the card-room and passed down the corridor. 
 
 Her only tangible sensations were anger and self- 
 contempt. The thought that Serracauld, who had 
 seemed less than nothing in the scheme of her Hfe— 
 Serracauld, with whom she had laughed and jested 
 and flirted because he was a boy and of no account — 
 should have treated her Hghtly, should have pre- 
 sumed to kiss her, to seize her violently in his 
 arms, was something shameful and intolerable. The 
 simplicity of her up-bringing — the uncontaminated 
 childhood that her country had given her — rose to 
 confront her in this newest crisis. Vain, frivolous, 
 foolish she might be, but beneath the vanity, the 
 frivolity, the folly she was — and always had been — 
 good in the primitive, fundamental sense of the word. 
 
 She hurried down the corridor and down the stair- 
 case that she had ascended so short a time before, 
 but, reaching the ground-floor, she did not turn tow- 
 ards the ballroom, from which the sound of the vio- 
 lins still floated. Instinctively, she moved in the 
 opposite direction, towards the quieter portion of the 
 house in which stood the music-room. 
 
 The door of the room was closed when sh-^ reached 
 it, and no sound came to her from within. For a 
 space she stood hesitating outside; then the distant 
 murmur of talk and laughter roused her to action. 
 
 402
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Her hesitancy fled before her distaste for companion- 
 ship. She raised her hand and noiselessly opened the 
 door. 
 
 To enter the musrc-room was to enter a region of 
 romance. For, as the card-room up-stairs suggested 
 the world and the things of the world, this room 
 seemed to embrace all the repose, all the dignity, all 
 the peace that such places as Tuffnell gather unto 
 themselves with the passage of time. It was a long, 
 low-ceiled room with wainscoted walls and a polished 
 oak floor, and the first object that met the visitor's 
 eye was an old harpsichord, mutely eloquent of by- 
 gone days, for, with rare good taste, Lady Diana had 
 hidden her piano behind a tapestry screen worked 
 many centuries ago by another lady of the house. 
 Even on this night of festivity the place retained its 
 peculiar quiet; only half a dozen candles burned in 
 the sconces that hung upon the walls, and the scent 
 of lavender and dried rose-leaves lingered upon the 
 air. 
 
 It seemf^d what it was — a room in which, for num- 
 berless generations, women of refinement had made 
 music, read poetry, or sung songs, while they wove 
 about them the indescribable atmosphere of home. 
 
 And into this room Clodagh stepped, her heart 
 burning, her mind distressed, pained, and hurt. 
 
 For an instant she paused upon the threshold, 
 overwhelmed by the contrast between the aloofness, 
 the graceful repose of the place, and tumult of her 
 own thoughts; then, yielding to the spirit of peace, 
 she closed the door resolutely and went forward into 
 the room. 
 
 But at sound of the closing door, at sound of her 
 dress upon the polished floor, an answering sound 
 came from behind the tapestry screen — the noise of 
 
 403
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 a chair being quietly pushed back— of some one ris- 
 ing to his feet. 
 
 In sudden consternation she stopped. For one 
 instant she glanced behind her, contemplating flight ; 
 the next, a faint exclamation of surprise — the merest 
 audible breath — escaped her, and her figure became 
 motionless. 
 
 The occupant of the room came quietly round the 
 screen, and in the uncertain light of the candles she 
 recognized Gore. 
 
 The position was unusual; the moment was un- 
 usual. For the first time since the night at the 
 Palazzo Ugochini they were entirely alone; for the 
 first time since the night at the Palazzo Ugochini 
 they looked at each other without the commentary 
 of other eyes — without the atmosphere of convention- 
 al things. 
 
 Involuntarily, inevitably, their eyes met. Clo- 
 dagh looked into his; and in the contact of glances it 
 seemed that a miracle came to pass. By power of 
 that magnetism that indisputably exists — the mag- 
 netism that draws certain natures irrevocably to- 
 gether, although circumstance and time may delay 
 their union— she saw the gleam of comprehension, of 
 question, of acknowledgment spring from his eyes to 
 hers, and she knew, without the need of words, 
 that he stood within the circle of her power, that, 
 whether with or against his will, his personality 
 claimed response from hers. 
 
 She did not move, for it seemed to her, in that in- 
 stant of understanding, that her life and his were 
 mysteriously suspended. Her heart beat extraor- 
 dinarily fast, yet her mental vision was curiously 
 clear. By the light of her recent misgivings, by the 
 light of her sudden confidence, she seemed to see and 
 
 404
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 to read herself and him with a strange and vivid 
 clearness. Some power, tangible yet invincibly com- 
 pelling, drew them together. In the personal scheme 
 of things there were only two persons — he and she. 
 Beyond the walls of the music-room life swept for- 
 ward as relentlessly, as rapidly as before; but inside 
 the walls of the music-room there were only he and 
 she. 
 
 Almost unconsciously she took a step towards him. 
 
 "Do vou remember that night in Venice?" she 
 asked. "The night you said all the things that 
 sounded so hard, and hurt so much, and — and were 
 so true?" 
 
 She did not know why she had spoken. She did 
 not know how she had framed her words. She only 
 knew that, exalted by the consciousness of great 
 good within her reach, she was moved to dare 
 greatly. 
 
 It was the moment of her life. The moment when 
 all social barriers of prejudice and of etiquette fell 
 away before a tremendous self-knowledge. She re- 
 alized in that space of time that her thoughts of 
 Gore — her attraction towards him, her reluctant 
 admiration — had been insensibly leading up to this 
 instant of action, that on the evening when they 
 stood together on the terrace of the hotel at Venice, 
 and watched the night steal in from the lagoon, it 
 had been irrevocably written in the book of fate that 
 they should one day look into each other's hearts — 
 for happiness or sorrow. 
 
 "Do you remember that night in Venice?" she 
 said again, almost below her breath. And in the 
 pause that followed the whispered words the most 
 wonderful — the most wholly perfect — incident of her 
 life occurred. The voice that had power to chill or 
 
 405
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 stir her spoke her name; the hands she had beUeved 
 closed to her forever were held out towards her. 
 Gore came slowly forward across the shadowed room. 
 "I do remember," he said. "I have never for 
 gotten. I never shall forget."
 
 XLI 
 
 NEARLY three weeks had passed since the night 
 of Lady Diana Tuffnell's dance, and Clodagh 
 was once more occupying her London flat. 
 
 The season was long since dead, the fashionable 
 world had betaken itself to its customary haunts; 
 London had, in the eyes of society, become intoler- 
 able; and yet it seemed to her, as she woke each morn- 
 ing and looked across the park, lying under a haze of 
 heat, that she had never known the great city until 
 now, that she had never experienced the exhilaration 
 that can lie in its crowded, strenuous life until now, 
 when her own existence, her own soul, seemed lifted 
 above it on the wings of happiness. 
 
 For the hours, the days, the weeks that had fol- 
 lowed the night of Lady Diana's dance had been a 
 chain of golden dreams linked one to the other. From 
 the moment that Gore had made his confession the 
 face of the world had altered for her. One over- 
 whelming fact had colored the universe — the fact 
 that he loved, that he needed her. 
 
 They had entered into no lucid erclanations in the 
 moments that had followed the confession, for men 
 and women in love have no need of such mundane 
 things. With the glorious egotism of nature, they 
 are content with the primitive consciousness that each 
 lives and is close to the other. 
 
 Clodagh had, it is true, made some faint and dep- 
 
 407
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 recating allusion to the past — to Gore's first disap- 
 proval and subsequent avoidance of her. And he 
 had paused in his flow of talk and looked at her with 
 sudden seriousness. 
 
 "I have never disapproved of you," he had said. 
 "I have never felt it was my place to disapprove." 
 
 "But you have avoided me?" 
 
 " Never intentionally. I have watched you, I have 
 studied you, since we have been here together." 
 
 "And what have you seen?" 
 
 Clodagh had remembered the card-room and Ser- 
 racauld — the rose-garden and Deerehurst— with a 
 quick, faint sense of fear. 
 
 But Gore had taken her hand and, with quiet 
 courtesy, had raised it to his lips. 
 
 "I have seen — or believe I have seen — that though 
 you may like these people, may be amused by them, 
 may even court them, not one of them is more to you 
 now than they were in Venice. That is what I be- 
 lieve. Am I right?" 
 
 And Clodagh, in sudden relief, in sudden gratitude 
 for his faith, had caught his hand passionately be- 
 tween her own and looked up confidently into his 
 face. 
 
 "You are right!" she had cried. "Oh, you are 
 right! They are nothing to me! Nothing! Noth- 
 mg! 
 
 And Gore, moved by her vehemence, had leaned 
 forward and looked deeply into the eyes that chal- 
 lenged his 
 
 " Not one of them is anything to you — in any way ?" 
 
 " Not one of them is anything to me — in any way." 
 
 That had been the only moment of personal doubt 
 or question that had obtruded itself upon the first 
 hours of mutual comprehension. Until more than 
 
 408
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 half the programme had been danced through, and 
 the older guests had begun to depart, they had walked 
 together up and down the solitary paths of the old 
 garden upon which the music-room opened — a garden 
 where thyme and lavender and a hundred other sweet- 
 smelling plants bordered the prim flower-beds and re- 
 called bv their scents the days when the harpsichord 
 had tinkled out across the silence of the night. As 
 they paced slowly to and fro they had made many 
 confessions, sweet in the confessing, of thoughts and 
 desires and doubts felt by each — when each had be- 
 lieved the other out of reach; and quietly, hesitating- 
 ly, eagerly they had touched upon the future, upon 
 the days when Clodagh's mourning should be over 
 and they could permit the world to share their 
 secret — upon the days, still later, when their lives 
 should no longer be separate things but one perfect 
 whole. 
 
 Gore was an unusual and a very delightful lover. 
 The slight suggestion of reticence that marked him in 
 ordinary life clung to him even in these intimate mo- 
 ments. He gave the impression that behind his ex- 
 treme quiet, his almost gentle deference of manner, 
 lay reserves of feeling, of dignity, of strength that he 
 himself had, perhaps, never fathomed. 
 
 And for this very reserve, this courtliness, this inde- 
 scribable fineness of bearing, Clodagh felt her own 
 nature leap forth in renewed admiration. 
 
 At last, at one o'clock, they had parted, he to 
 smoke and pace the garden paths until the early sum- 
 mer dawn broke over the woods, she to wait by the 
 open window of Nance's bedroom, with her face buried 
 in her hands, her whole being alive and tingling with 
 the tumult, the excitement of the joy that had come 
 to her. 
 
 409
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 At six o'clock next morning, before any member 
 of the house-party was awake, Gore had made his way 
 to the stables, and a few minutes later had emerged, 
 leading two saddled horses. In the drive he had been 
 joined by Clodagh, dressed in her riding-habit, and 
 looking fresh and buoyant as on the first morning 
 when she had ridden alone through the great gates 
 and had dreamed of his coming to Tuffnell. 
 
 No companionship can be more delightful than 
 that of two people wholly occupied with each other 
 who ride together on a summer morning. To Clo- 
 dagh, the frank happiness of that stolen ride, the 
 intoxicating sense of reality conveyed by Gore's 
 glance as she met it in the searching sunlight, had 
 been things that possessed no parallel. Her natural, 
 spontaneous capacity for joy had wakened within 
 her like a f^ood of light. The misgivings, the dark 
 hours — the feverish artificiality of the past months 
 had been dispersed as if by magic. She had become 
 as a child who, by the fervor of its own delight, sheds 
 delight upon all around. 
 
 And so it had been with the days that had elapsed 
 before their departure from Buckinghamshire. They 
 had met as often as chance would permit, but, with 
 the exception of the first stolen ride, they had ar- 
 ranged no more secret meetings. And to Clodagh the 
 half -furtive, ever- expectant existence had been 
 fraught with new pleasure. To talk and laugh with 
 others, to watch Gore do likewise, and all the while 
 to know that, unseen by any eyes, unsuspected by 
 those around them, their lives were linked together, 
 their thoughts belonged to each other, was a source 
 of intense excitement, of unending joy. 
 
 To Nance alone did she confide her secret, and here 
 lay another source of happiness. For every night, 
 
 410
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 when the house-party had retired, when Simonetta 
 had been dismissed, and the house given over to the 
 great, sheltering stillness of the country, the sisters 
 had exchanged such confidences as all women love — 
 talking of their hopes, their fears, their pasts, their 
 futures, in the half-reluctant, half-eager confessions 
 that the dark suggests. 
 
 Then at last these days of mystery and possibility 
 had come to an end. Gore had received a letter from 
 his mother asking him to join her in Scotland, and 
 almost at the same hour had come a cablegram from 
 Pierce Estcoit saying that he, with his mother and 
 sister, had sailed for England a fortnight earlier than 
 they had at first intended. 
 
 So, bidding good-bye to the TufiEnells, to her fellow- 
 guests, and to Gore, Clodagh had returned to Lon- 
 don. And now, a fortnight later, she and Nance were 
 driving homeward through the park in the warmth 
 of an early afternoon. 
 
 The morning had been devoted to the preparation 
 of Nance's trousseau — a matter which, in these davs, 
 claimed absorbed attention — and, later, the sisters had 
 lunched together at one of the restaurants. 
 
 The day, or at least the earlier portion of it, had 
 been a complete success. But now, as Clodagh 's 
 motor-car sped along under the canopy of trees, al- 
 ready whitened with summer dust, a cloud seemed 
 to have fallen upon the sisters' gayety. Clo- 
 dagh lay back in her corner, her lips set, looking 
 straight in front of her; Nance sat stiffly upright, 
 her face flushed, her head held at an aggressive 
 angle. 
 
 At last, unable to maintain the silence longer, she 
 turned and looked at her sister. 
 
 "It — it seems to me so stupid," she said. 
 
 411
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Clodagh took up a parasol that lay beside her and 
 opened it with a little jerk. 
 
 "Was it my fault that he lunched at 'Prince's'? 
 Was it my fault that he sat at the table next to ours ? 
 You know perfectly well that I don't care where he 
 lunches — or whether he ever lunches — " 
 
 Nance maintained her rigid attitude. 
 
 " I wonder if he is of that opinion ?" she said, dryly. 
 
 Clodagh flushed suddenly. 
 
 " It is you who are being stupid. Lord Deerehurst 
 is one of my best friends. It's impossible to treat 
 him rudely when we chance to meet." 
 
 Nance gave a little, angry laugh. 
 
 "When you chance to meet!" she repeated, with 
 immense scorn. Then she turned afresh and looked 
 at her sister. "Do you think engaged people ought 
 to have best friends? I wonder what Pierce would 
 say if I were to get flowers and books and things every 
 day — " 
 
 Clodagh shut her parasol sharply. 
 
 "How can you, Nance! Books and flowers and 
 things every day! Four times Lord Deerehurst has 
 sent me flowers since we came back to town." 
 
 "And how many times has he written to you ? And 
 how many times has he called ? And why did he come 
 back to town from Tuffnell, instead of going to France 
 with Mr. Serracauld ?" 
 
 Clodagh looked away across the park. 
 
 "He had business in town." 
 
 "Business! Was it business that brought him to 
 the flat at nine o'clock the morning after we arrived 
 — and that made you ride with him? Oh, Clo, I 
 wonder, when you think of Walter, that you're — 
 you're not ashamed!" She brought the last word 
 forth with a little gasp. 
 
 412
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 For a moment Clodagh's face was suffused with 
 red. 
 
 "I do not need anybody to tell me how I should 
 care for Walter," she said, after a moment's pause. 
 
 At the low, hurt tone, Nance's antagonistic atti- 
 tude suddenly deserted her. The expression of her 
 face changed, her figure unbent. 
 
 "Clo! Clo! I was a wretch! I was a wretch! 
 Forgive me! It's only that, knowing Walter is com- 
 ing back to-morrow, knowing that he hates Lord 
 Deerehurst, and seeing you allowing him to go every- 
 where that you go — oh, Clo, I can't properly explain, 
 but sometimes I have felt — afraid. Walter is so — 
 so honorable himself." 
 
 Clodagh put out her hand and laid it for a moment 
 upon her sister's. 
 
 "When one loves like I do, Nance," she said, "one 
 simply doesn't see anybody but the person that one 
 cares for. Other people don't count — other people 
 don't exist." 
 
 Nance looked down at the hand still resting upon 
 her own. 
 
 "Perhaps not," she said, wisely, "but the point is 
 that the person one cares for may not be quite so 
 bhnd." 
 
 Clodagh withdrew her hand. 
 
 "You mean that Walter might imagine — you 
 mean that Walter might be jealous of Lord Deere- 
 hurst?" 
 
 "I did mean that." 
 
 With a sudden gesture of amusement Clodagh 
 threw up her head and laughed. Then almost as 
 suddenly her face became grave. 
 
 "Nance," she said, in a new voice. 
 
 Very sharply Nance turned. 
 
 413
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 But Clodagh's mood had veered once more. 
 
 "Nothing, darUng," she said. "Nothing. Here 
 we are at home. Aren't you longing for a nice, cool 
 room and a cup of tea?"
 
 XLII 
 
 THE fragmentary quarrel between the sisters was 
 very suggestive. Nance's anger and Clodagh's 
 irritable repudiation of her advice had each been 
 fraught with its own significance. For, much as the 
 former might busy herself in the happiness of her 
 own engagement and the preparations for her mar- 
 riage, she could not blind herself to the fact that Clo- 
 dagh was acting, if not with genuine folly, at least 
 with something that might readily be mistaken for 
 it; and, much as the latter might resent a criticism of 
 her action, she could not mentally deny that possibly 
 the criticism was justified. 
 
 Yet, when the matter came to be sifted, it was hard 
 to say exactly the point to which exception could 
 reasonably be taken. 
 
 Undoubtedly, Deerehurst did obtrude himself with 
 curious — with almost intimate — frequency into the 
 plans of each day; but then the intrusion was so 
 natural, so simple, so subtle, if one might use so ex- 
 treme a word. If London is large in one sense it is 
 socially as small as any other capital, and the man 
 who wishes to seek the society of a member of his 
 own set finds his way rendered very easy. 
 
 And in all matters of tact and subtlety Deerehurst 
 was an adept. If in Nance's eyes his comings and 
 goings were things to cavil at, he knew exactly how 
 to arrange them for Clodagh's consideration, so that 
 
 415
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 the gift of a bunch of flowers, the offer of seats at a 
 theatre, the loan of a house, or the retailing of an 
 amusing bit of gossip seemed the merest courtesies 
 from one friend to another. For in one fact lay his 
 advantage, the fact of a really great favor, secretly 
 given and secretly accepted, in comparison with which 
 all trivial civilities became as nothing. 
 
 Not that he ever pressed this advantage home. 
 He was far too wise to allude to it by look or word. 
 But the very passivity of his attitude served to fix 
 the consciousness of his generosity deeper in Clo- 
 dagh's mind. Not that the knowledge of it galled 
 her; she was too exultantly happy in her own life to 
 be hampered by any debt. But the knowledge of 
 its existence was there — unconsciously bearing upon 
 her ideas and her actions. 
 
 On the morning following her return from Tuffnell, 
 a faint thrill of surprise and uneasiness had touched 
 her when her eyes had fallen upon a big, square en- 
 velope, bearing a black coronet, that lay among her 
 letters on the breakfast-table. And another remem- 
 brance of Venice had caused her fingers to tremble 
 slightly as she tore the letter open. 
 
 But at the first line her face had cleared, her con- 
 fidence in life and in herself had flowed back in full 
 tide. There was not a word in the letter that Gore 
 himself might not have read. 
 
 So great had been her relief that a new wave of 
 kindly feeling for Deerehurst had awakened in her 
 mind, and when, on the following morning, he had 
 joined her in her early ride, she had received him 
 with friendly warmth. 
 
 And from that things had drifted, until Deere- 
 hurst's presence — Deerehurst's discreet, deferential, 
 amusing personality — had become a factor in the 
 
 416
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 day's routine. The Estcoits had arrived from Amer- 
 ica, and, with their advent, she had been compelled 
 to see less of Nance; the majority of her friends had 
 already left town, so that even, had she desired the 
 old existence, amusements and occupations were less 
 easy to find than they had been a month ago. There 
 was, of course, her daily letter from Gore — the most 
 precious thing in her existence — and there was also 
 her daily letter to him. But even a woman in love 
 cannot read and write — or even dream — all day, and 
 in the intervals of idleness there invariably seemed 
 to be — Deerehurst. 
 
 But now at last the day had arrived upon which 
 Gore was to return to London. It was four o'clock 
 in the afternoon, the hot summer air beating upon 
 the green-and-white sun-blinds of the fiat ; and Nance 
 was standing at a table in the window, arranging a 
 bowl of heliotrope, when Clodagh opened the door of 
 the drawing-room. 
 
 She was dressed in her riding-habit, her riding- 
 crop was under one arm, and as she came forward into 
 the room she was drawing off a pair of chamois gloves. 
 
 " He hasn't come ?" she asked, quickly. " Oh, I'm 
 so glad! I was terrified that that last gallop might 
 have made me late. How lovely life is!" She came 
 quickly across the room, and, linking her arm in 
 Nance's, buried her face in the heliotrope. "How 
 lovely life is! And summer! And flowers! Do 
 you know, the sun to-day made me long for Orris- 
 town! Think of it all, Nance! Burke and Hannah, 
 and Polly and the dogs! Oh, we must all go there 
 together— you and I and Pierce and Walter — " She 
 paused suddenly and looked at her sister. "Nance! 
 You're cross!" 
 
 Nance refused to look u]). 
 " 417
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Nance, you're cross!" Her voice was less sure — 
 less confident. 
 
 Nance caught the tone of hesitancy, and turned 
 quickly round. 
 
 "I wish Walter had driven through the park ten 
 minutes ago," she said. "I do— I really, really do." 
 
 Clodagh's face flamed, and she drew away from 
 her sister. 
 
 "And I wish — " she began, hotly. Then she 
 patised. 
 
 The door of the drawing-room was thrown open, 
 and Gore was announced. 
 
 For one instant Clodagh stood hesitating, with a 
 new and charming diffidence; the next, all thoughts 
 of self were blotted out by the consciousness of his 
 presence — his bright, strong presence, typified by 
 his frank eyes, his clear, healthy skin, his close- 
 cropped, fair hair. With a little exclamation of 
 greeting she hurried towards him. 
 
 In quick, warm response he took both her hands. 
 
 "Well!" he said. "Well! It's good to see you. 
 How splendid you look! And Nance, too!" He 
 turned to the window with quiet cordiality. 
 
 "Can Nance find time to shake hands with a mere 
 Englishman?" 
 
 Nance laid down the bunch of heliotrope she was 
 still holding. 
 
 And at the same moment Clodagh looked round 
 impulsively. • 
 
 "Nance and I were quarrelling," she said. 
 
 " Quarrelling! What on earth about ?" Gore looked 
 amusedly from one to the other. 
 
 "Oh, about—" 
 
 But Nance interrupted by stepping quickly for- 
 ward. 
 
 418
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "About nothing," she said, hastily. "How are 
 you, Walter? I'm so glad to see you! But I must 
 wash my hands before I even try to talk. Heliotrope 
 is much stickier than you'd think." She looked down 
 at her fingers, then laughed and moved across the 
 room. But as Gore hurried forward to open the 
 door for her, she glanced up into his face with an al- 
 most serious look. 
 
 "I'm so glad you have come back," she whispered. 
 "Make up to her for the time you've been away." 
 
 Gore's feelings were very pleasant, very protective 
 as he closed the door and turned back into the room. 
 He was too essentially an Englishman to be demon- 
 strative, but the leaven of sentiment that so often 
 lies in the English character had always held a place 
 in his nature. In confessing his love to Clodagh, in 
 acknowledging that love to himself, he had indis- 
 putably swept aside some difficulties — difficulties 
 born of inherent prejudice, of a certain stiff-necked 
 distrust of what he had begun by criticising. But 
 they had been thrust aside. He had acknowledged 
 himself stirred to the depths of nature by something 
 brilliant and vivid in her personality. He had made 
 his choice. 
 
 His whole expression, his whole bearing was at- 
 tractive as he came towards her; he seemed to carry 
 about him a breath of the country — the clean, open 
 spaces of the country. And her heart gave a throb 
 of pride and satisfaction, of complete, ungrudging 
 admiration, as he took her hands again and drew her 
 to him. 
 
 ' ' Well ! " he said , fondly. ' ' Well ! Have you really 
 missed me as much as your letters said ?" 
 
 For a moment she remained silent, drinking in the 
 joy of his presence. 
 
 419
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Won't you tell me?" 
 
 "In a moment. In one moment. Oh, Walter, 
 the heavenly rest of knowing that you care!" 
 
 Then suddenly shaking off her seriousness, she drew 
 away from him, looking up into his face with eyes 
 that shone strangely. 
 
 "I'm not crying, Walter," she exclaimed. "I'm 
 only — frantically happy." She gave a little gasp, 
 followed by a little laugh. 
 
 And Gore, carried away by her charm, by the un- 
 conscious flatter}^ of her words, caught her suddenly 
 in his arms, and, bending his face to hers, kissed her 
 passionately. 
 
 At last they drew apart, laughing, and Clodagh 
 moved across the room to the open window and sat 
 down upon the low sill. 
 
 A second or two later he followed her. 
 
 "Well! And so the fiance is perfection?" he said, 
 smilingly. "Little Nance looks very happy." He 
 seated himself on the edge of the table strewn with 
 the debris of the heliotrope. 
 
 Clodagh glanced up, pleased and interested. 
 
 "Yes, Pierce is charming," she said, eagerly. "And 
 so are his mother and sister. I told you, didn't I ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "We dined with them at the Carlton last night, 
 and they're coming here to tea this afternoon. I 
 know you'll love them. Mrs. Estcoit has the most 
 fascinating — " 
 
 But Gore made a rueful face. 
 
 "To-day!" he said. "Oh, you might have given 
 me the first day!" 
 
 Clodagh laughed happily. 
 
 "How greedy of you! This is to be a family 
 party." 
 
 420
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Gore smiled. 
 
 "And Nance was decorating the room for the sac- 
 rifice?" He idly gathered the stalks and leaves of 
 the heliotrope into a little heap. 
 
 , The action was purely mechanical, purely inad- 
 vertent. But as he drew the broken stems together 
 a small object, hitherto hidden under the scattered 
 leaves, was suddenly brought to light. 
 
 It was very trivial, very uninteresting— merely a 
 man's visiting-card. Without consideration he pick- 
 ed it up and looked at it. Then with an extremely 
 quiet gesture he laid it down again. 
 
 It bore the name of the earl of Deerehurst, and 
 across it Clodagh's name and address had been scrib- 
 bled in pencil. 
 
 "So you owe the decorations to Deerehurst?" he 
 said, in a low voice. 
 
 There was a short silence. Then suddenly he rose 
 and stepped to Clodagh's side. 
 
 "Dear, forgive me!" he said. 
 
 At the unexpected words Clodagh's heart swelled. 
 With a sudden impulse she caught the hand he had 
 laid upon her shoulder and pressed it against her face. 
 
 "No, Walter," she said. "Say all that was in 
 your mind. Be angry, if you like." 
 
 For answer Gore seated himself beside her on the 
 window-sill. 
 
 "I don't think I should ever be angry with you," 
 he said, gently. "Anger seems to belong to lesser 
 things than — love. I should either believe in you 
 or disbelieve in you." 
 
 He said the somewhat curious words gravely. 
 
 Clodagh turned to him swiftly. 
 
 " Walter, there was no doubt of me in your mind, 
 then?" 
 
 421
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 He met her searching eyes quietly. 
 
 "Not one doubt. Do you think I have forgotten 
 that night at Tuffnell.?" 
 
 He spoke almost gently, but at his words the re- 
 membrance of the night at Tuffnell rushed back upon 
 Clodagh with an almost exaggerated vividness. On 
 that night love had shone upon her — love, with its 
 coveted accompaniments of trust and protection. 
 She remembered the dimly lit music-room, the dark 
 garden with its old-fashioned scents; she remembered 
 Gore's quiet, distinct question- — "Not one of them 
 is anything to you — in any way?" 
 
 She remembered this, and she remembered also the 
 infinitesimal pause that had divided his question from 
 her answer, when the images of Lady Frances Hope, 
 of Serracauld, of Deerehurst had flitted across her 
 imagination. Then, last of all, she recalled her an- 
 swer — "Not one of them is anything to me — in any 
 way." 
 
 The moment that had brought forth that answer 
 had been crucial — had been, psychologically, intense- 
 ly interesting. It had been the triumph of love — the 
 triumph of the egotism that is, and ever must be, a 
 component part of love. 
 
 And now, as she reviewed the incident in the colder 
 light of day — as she turned involuntarily and looked 
 at Gore — she was suddenly mastered by the certain 
 knowledge that, were the circumstance to be repeated, 
 her action would be the same. 
 
 With a swift movement she held out her hand. 
 
 " Walter," she said, impulsively, "you are the only 
 person in the world. No one else exists." 
 
 It was an hour later, and the outward aspect of 
 Clodagh 's drawing - room had been changed. The 
 
 422
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 sun-blinds had been drawn up, and a full flood of 
 light allowed to pour in across the table in the win- 
 dow. The debris of leaves and stalks — and with them 
 Deerehurst's card — had been removed to give place 
 to a tea-tray, while through the room itself rang the 
 gay talk and laughter of people who have enjoyed 
 a genuinely pleasant meal. 
 
 The tea had been disposed of some little time ago, 
 but Nance still lingered beside the tea-table, and at 
 her side stood Gore and a young man of fivc-and- 
 twenty with a tall, slight figure, a pale face, and in- 
 tensely shrewd and penetrating eyes. 
 
 Clodagh, still wearing her riding-habit, sat in the 
 centre of the room in radiantly high spirits, talking 
 animatedly to a distinguished -looking woman with 
 beautiful white hair, and a slim, graceful girl of about 
 Nance's age, who sat one on either side of her. 
 
 "Isn't it unkind of Mrs. Estcoit, Pierce?" she said, 
 suddenly turning towards the tea-table. "She says 
 you must go!" 
 
 Estcoit laughed — and when he laughed a very 
 agreeable gleam of humor showed in his shrewd eyes. 
 
 "But it takes my mother ten minutes to go from 
 anywhere," he said. "Ask Nance if it doesn't." 
 
 Clodagh laughed gayly. 
 
 "Good! Then I can ask ten more questions about 
 Hoston. Mrs. Estcoit, please tell me — " 
 
 But she paused before her sentence was finished; 
 for the handle of the door had turned, and, looking 
 up quickly, she saw the tall figure of Deerehurst. 
 
 Had any member of the party looked at her in that 
 moment, he or she would have seen a wave of color 
 sweep across her face, then die out, leaving her al- 
 most white. But beyond this she betrayed no 
 emotion; and a moment later, when Deerehurst came 
 
 423
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 towards her across the room with his habitual slow, 
 silent step, she raised her head, smiHng a conventional 
 welcome, and held out her hand. 
 
 He took it silently and with a slightly ostentatious 
 impressiveness. 
 
 "A thousand apologies if I intrude on a social 
 gathering," he murmured. "But on returning home 
 I chanced upon the book we were discussing to-day, 
 and remembering how interested you were — " With a 
 very quiet movement he laid a small and costly Httle 
 book of verses on the arm of Clodagh's chair, and 
 turned with his usual dignity to where Nance was 
 standing. 
 
 "How d' you do, Miss Asshlin ? Is it too late to 
 beg for a cup of tea?" 
 
 Nance held out her hand. 
 
 "I'm afraid 'twill be rather cold," she said, a Httle 
 ungraciously. "But if you don't mind that, will 
 you please ring the bell. We shall want another 
 cup." 
 
 Estcoit glanced at her, a humorous look hovering 
 about his thin hps, and at the same instant Gore was 
 conscious of a sudden wave of brotherly affection. 
 
 But Deerehurst showed no embarrassment. He 
 turned to the fireplace, pressed the bell, then looked 
 round again upon the little group, 
 
 "Halloo, Gore!" he said, carelessly. "I thought 
 you were kilHng salmon at the home of the ancestors. 
 How d' you do, Mr. Estcoit?" 
 
 He nodded to the young American, then moved 
 away again to where Clodagh sat. 
 
 "What a dreadful afternoon!" he said. "Why 
 haven't you changed into something lighter?" He 
 glanced at her riding-habit. 
 
 She blushed and looked up hastily. 
 
 424
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "We have just been saying what a glorious after- 
 noon. But I don't think you liave met Mrs. and 
 Miss Estcoit! Let me introduce you. Lord Deere- 
 hurst, Mrs. Estcoit." 
 
 Both ladies bowed, and Mrs. Estcoit broke at once 
 into an unaffected flow of talk, to which Deerehurst 
 Ustened with polite interest, smiling now and then, 
 and occasionally raising his eye-glass. 
 
 At last, as she paused, he looked at her in faint 
 curiosity. 
 
 "And you really find an interest in England?" he 
 
 asked. 
 
 She gave a bright, cordial laugh, a laugh that 
 seemed to testify to the perennial youth of her coun- 
 trywomen. 
 
 "This is the twenty-first visit I've paid to Eng- 
 land," she said. "And I love it more every time. 
 Wlien my son turns me out of my home in Boston, 
 I shall buy one of your country places — as a dower 
 house." Again she laughed, casting an affectionate 
 glance towards Nance and Estcoit. "But, Clodagh. 
 we really must fly. Good - bye. Lord Deerehurst. 
 Delighted to have met you." She rose gracefully, 
 shook hands with the old peer, and. turning to Clo- 
 dagh, took both her hands and kissed her warmly. 
 
 "Good-bye," she said. "Good-bye. It has been 
 perfectly charming." 
 
 Clodagh smiled a quick response. 
 
 "Indeed it has— for me. Don't forget to-morrow 
 
 night." 
 
 "Forget! Why, I'm existing to see that play. 
 Come, Daisy!" She turned to her daughter, who 
 had joined the group at the tea-table. "Pierce, are 
 you ready? Good-bye, Nance. Come with us to 
 the elevator?" 
 
 425
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Nance crossed the room readily, while Estcoit 
 shook hands with Clodagh. 
 
 "Good-bye," he said. "I shall see you to-morrow 
 night — if not sooner." 
 
 She pressed his hand warmly. "Make it sooner," 
 she said. And they both laughed, after the manner 
 of people who understand and like each other. 
 
 The momentary departure of Nance left Clodagh, 
 Gore, and Deerehurst the sole occupants of the room. 
 After Estcoit had closed the door there was a faint 
 pause, and in that pause Clodagh was a prey to con- 
 flicting feelings — passionate hope that Deerehurst 
 might see fit to go, passionate fear that Gore might 
 leave before they could have a word in private. 
 
 And while her mind swayed between hope and fear, 
 Deerehurst drew forward a chair and seated himself 
 beside her. 
 
 "I shall be interested to know what you think of 
 this," he said, leaning forward and lifting the book 
 from the arm of her chair, where she had allowed it 
 to lie untouched. 
 
 She smiled mechanically, though her senses were 
 strained to observe Gore's attitude. 
 
 "It is very good of you. I am sure — I am sure I 
 shall like it." 
 
 For an instant his cold glance rested curiously on 
 her face, the next it fell again to the book. 
 
 "I shall expect you to like it," he said, enigmati- 
 cally. 
 
 "What is the book?" Gore came quietly forward 
 and stood looking down at them. 
 
 Deerehurst raised his eyes with an expression in 
 which amusement and a faint contempt were to be 
 read by a close observer. 
 
 "The book!" he said. "Oh, something, I am afraid, 
 
 426
 
 OH, SO.Mi; rillNT., 1 AM Al-KAII), lllAI Woll.liN 1 INTliREST 
 
 YOU ' "
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 that wouldn't interest you. I don't believe the 
 writer knew anything of far countries — or even of 
 fishing." He paused, and deliberately turned half 
 a dozen pages. "He only understood one thing, but 
 that he understood perfectly." 
 
 Gore laughed. 
 
 "And may a Philistine ask what it was?" 
 
 "Oh, certainly. It was love." 
 
 The door opened as he said the word in his high, 
 expressive voice, and to Clodagh's indescribable re- 
 lief Nance entered. 
 
 In the second that she stepped across the threshold 
 her bright eyes passed from one face to the other, 
 and a rapid process of deduction took place in her 
 mind. 
 
 "Walter," she said, pleasantly, "Pierce says there's 
 one question he forgot to ask you about Japan. Do 
 you mind if I ask it now?" She walked to the open 
 window. 
 
 Gore followed her, and Clodagh drew a breath of 
 deep relief. 
 
 Ten minutes passed — ten interminable minutes, in 
 which she strove to attend to Decrehurst's words, 
 while her ears were strained to follow the conversa- 
 tion in the window. Then at last relief came. He 
 rose to go. 
 
 "I must say good-bye," he said, taking her hand. 
 "I shall await your verdict on the verses. There is 
 one I want you specially to read — the last one. Good- 
 bye." 
 
 She smiled, scarcely hearing what he said, and a 
 moment later he had bowed to the two in the window 
 and passed out of the room. 
 
 As the outer door closed, Nance came across to 
 her sister. 
 
 427
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 " Do you mind if I run down to Sloane Street, Clo ?" 
 she asked. "I never remembered those lozenges for 
 Aunt Fan, and I can just catch the Irish mail." 
 
 Without waiting for an answer she stooped and 
 kissed Clodagh's forehead, and, turning, passed out 
 of the room. 
 
 After she had left them, there was a silence, in which 
 neither Clodagh nor Gore made any attempt to speak. 
 
 Filled with a nervous sense of something inevitably 
 impending, Clodagh sat very still. She dreaded to 
 look at Gore lest she might precipitate what he was 
 going to say, yet to her strained mind suspense ap- 
 peared intolerable. She clasped her hands suddenly, 
 with a little catching of the breath. 
 
 At the faint yet significant sound he turned from 
 the window, and, coming quietly across the room, 
 paused behind her chair. 
 
 "Clodagh." He bent over her, laying his hands 
 gently on her shoulders. "Clodagh, we talked to- 
 day of the night at Tuffnell — of what you said that 
 night." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Clodagh's throat felt dry. 
 
 "And it was all true — perfectly true?" 
 
 "Yes. Oh, Walter, yes." 
 
 Gore stood upright, still keeping his hands upon 
 her shoulders. 
 
 "Then I am going to ask a great favor of you. I 
 am going to ask you to break your friendship — to 
 break your acquaintance — with Deerehurst. I want 
 you never to have him in your house after to-day. 
 Dearest, believe me, I know what I am saying." 
 
 As Clodagh remained silent he bent over her again. 
 
 "It isn't jealousy, Clodagh. It isn't pique. It is 
 just that I cannot bear to see the man in your pres- 
 
 428
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 ence — in your house, knowinj^^ what I know of 
 him." 
 
 "What do you know of him?" Clodagh asked, 
 faintly. 
 
 "Nothing that I care to tell you! Be satisfied 
 that I know what I ask — and that 1 do ask. Give 
 him up! Cease to know him! Cease to have him 
 here!" In the intensity of his feeUngs, his fingers 
 pressed her shoulders. 
 
 "Clodagh, am I asking too much?" 
 
 Quite suddenly, almost hysterically, Clodagh rose, 
 and, turning to him, threw her arms about his neck. 
 
 "No, Walter!" she cried. "No! No! Nothing 
 you could ask would be too great to grant. I will 
 do what you wish. I will give him up — utterly — 
 entirely — from to day!"
 
 XLIII 
 
 THE next morning Clodagh rose imbued with 
 new decision. During Gore's absence, things 
 had worn a vague, even an impersonal aspect; for, 
 Hke all her countrywomen, she possessed a fatally 
 pleasant capacity for shelving the disagreeable. 
 While Gore was absent, it had seemed so easy to 
 meet Deerehurst on the footing he elected to main- 
 tain — the footing of calm, reassuring friendship. 
 But now, with Gore's return, the aspect of affairs 
 had altered. She was forced to look circumstances in 
 the face — forced to consider her position. She might 
 be a shelver of difficulties; but, before all things, 
 she was a woman in love ; and with the instinct that 
 such a condition of mind engenders she had inter- 
 preted the look in Gore's eyes when the name of 
 Deerehurst had been mentioned between them — and 
 had recognized that it was not to be ignored. 
 
 As she dressed that morning, she mentally surveyed 
 the courses of action that lay open to her; and with 
 each moment of reflection, it became plainer to her 
 understanding that only one was worthy of considera- 
 tion. However difficult the task, she must make 
 known her position to Deerehurst, and trust to his 
 generosity to find means of helping her. 
 
 Her mind was full of this new and somewhat op- 
 timistic scheme when she came into the dining-room, 
 where Nance was already reading her morning letters. 
 
 430
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 With a slightly absorbed manner she kissed her sister, 
 and, passing round the breakfast-table, picked up 
 her own correspondence. 
 
 In a perfunctory way she turned the envelopes 
 over until one arrested her attention, as being inti- 
 mately connected with her thoughts. 
 
 It was a letter from Deerehurst, and she tore it 
 open hastily, skimming the contents with an eager 
 glance. It began: 
 
 "Dear little Lady, — Yesterday the fates who watch 
 over my affairs were unkind. The afternoon was frankly a 
 failure. But I shall claim recompense; I shall look in upon 
 you in your box at the Apollo at nine to-night. A vexatious 
 business matter calls mc out of town to-day, or I should 
 strive to see you earlier. But at nine — make me welcome. 
 
 "Always devotedly. 
 
 "Deerehurst." 
 
 She finished reading the note, then laid it down 
 and hurriedly picked up another letter. How an- 
 noying it was! How malicious of chance! 
 
 The second letter proved to be from Lady Frances 
 Hope; it was from Brittany, and reproached her ex- 
 travagantly for not having written since they parted 
 at TulTnell ; imploring for news of her movements, it 
 informed her that the writer, with Mrs. Bathurst and 
 Valentine Serracauld, was on her way back to Lon- 
 don. She followed the lines mechanically, but her 
 mind was elsewhere. At last she threw the letter 
 down. 
 
 "Nance!" she said, suddenly. 
 
 "Darling!" 
 
 "Nance, I'm in a horrid diilicuity." 
 
 Nance's high-arched eyebrows drew together in a 
 frown of concern. 
 
 " Nothing bad ?" she said. " Nothing about Walter ?" 
 
 431
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "No. Yes; yes it is. You know Walter dislikes 
 Lord Deerehurst. Well, he was vexed at finding 
 him here yesterday ; atid after he had gone I — I 
 promised not to see him any more — I promised to 
 break off my friendship with him." 
 
 Nance nodded, tactfully refraining from any joy 
 in the proving of her theories. 
 
 "Yes?" she prompted, softly. 
 
 "And now Lord Deerehurst writes that he will be 
 at the Apollo to-night, and is coming round to our 
 box at nine." 
 
 Nance pursed up her lips. 
 
 "Oh!" she said. "And you'll have to put him 
 off?" 
 
 "That's the annoying thing. I can't. At least, 
 not easily." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because he's going into the country to-day and 
 won't be back till evening." 
 
 "Send him a note. He must go home to dress 
 before going to the theatre." 
 
 "He might dress and dine at his club." 
 
 "Write to his club as well." 
 
 Clodagh's perplexity showed itself in annoyance. 
 
 "How absurd you are, Nance! Fancy writing a 
 man two letters asking him not to see you, and giving 
 no explanation. It would simply bring him round 
 here at ten to-morrow morning." 
 
 She poured herself out a cup of tea and drank it 
 hastily. 
 
 "Life is a hateful tangle," she said. 
 
 "No, it isn't, darling, if you only had a little pa- 
 tience." 
 
 Clodagh made a very impatient gesture. 
 
 "You don't understand." 
 
 432
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 " I understand one thing — that you care for Wal- 
 ter." 
 
 Clodagh looked up, her mutable face lit by a sud- 
 den change of expression — a sudden look of almost 
 passionate seriousness. 
 
 "Yes, 1 do care for Walter," she said, suddenly. 
 " I care so much that 1 honestly and truly believe it 
 would kill me if anything came between us. I have 
 had lots of things in my life — pleasure, excitement, 
 admiration — but I have never had happiness until 
 now. And I won't lose it — I can't lose it." 
 
 The words poured forth in vehement sincerity; 
 then, as she saw the expression on Nance's face, she 
 gave a little laugh and put out her hand across the 
 table. 
 
 "Dearest, 1 frightened you. Of course everything 
 comes right if one has a little patience. Let's begin 
 breakfast properly. My head aches." 
 
 With another laugh, she pressed Nance's fingers, 
 gathered up her scattered correspondence, and poured 
 herself out another cup of tea. 
 
 Nance spent a long morning with her future mother- 
 in-law, lunching with her afterwards at her hotel. 
 Clodagh, left to herself, ordered her horse for eleven 
 o'clock; and after two hours of recklessly swift riding 
 in the Row, lunched alone at her club. After lunch 
 she wrote two telegrams — one addressed to Deere- 
 hurst's London house, the other to the club he most 
 frequented; these she handed in herself at a telegraph- 
 office, and, having despatched them, drove straight 
 home. 
 
 At four o'clock Nance returned to the flat, to be 
 met by the announcement that her sister had a bad 
 headache and had gone to her own room. Full of 
 «8 433
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 concern, she flew along the corridor and knocked on 
 Clodagh's door. In a very low voice Clodagh gave 
 her leave to enter. She opened the door swiftly; 
 then paused, alarmed. The blinds were drawn, and 
 by the subdued light she saw Clodagh lying on a 
 couch near one of the windows. 
 
 "Why, Clo, what's the matter?" 
 
 She ran forward and dropped on her knees by the 
 couch. 
 
 Clodagh extended two rather cold hands, and took 
 possession of Nance's warm ones. 
 
 "Nothing but a wretched headache. It will go 
 if I lie down all the afternoon and keep quiet to- 
 night." 
 
 Nance looked up. 
 
 "But how can you — at the play?" 
 
 "I'm not going to the play." 
 
 "Not going?" 
 
 Clodagh drew her sister closer. 
 
 "Now, darling, don't make a fuss. If you say 
 one word of objection, my head will get ten times 
 worse than it is. You are just to listen, and do as I 
 tell you. You are to telephone to Mrs. Estcoit and 
 explain what has happened. She will do the chaper- 
 oning instead of me." 
 
 "But Walter—" 
 
 " Walter is to go with you. You are to be as nice 
 to him as you possibly can be. Everything is to be 
 exactly as we arranged — exactly as we arranged." 
 
 She raised herself on her elbow to enforce the 
 words. 
 
 "And what about Lord Deerehurst?" 
 
 Clodagh did not answer immediately, then, sinking 
 back among her pillows, she spoke in a somewhat 
 hurried voice. 
 
 434
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "That will be all right; I — I took your advice 
 and sent him two messages, one to Carlton House 
 Terrace and one to his club. He won't be at the 
 theatre." 
 
 "But if he doesn't get the message? If he comes 
 all the same?" 
 
 "Then be polite to him. And now go, like a good 
 child. Don't ask any more questions. Don't say 
 anything. Let me see you when you're dressed, and 
 I'll give you a letter for Walter. I'm afraid I can't 
 dine with you ; I'll just have something sent in here." 
 Then, as if in sudden remorse, she put her arms about 
 Nance's neck and drew her close to her. 
 
 "Darling, forgive me, if I seem impossible." 
 
 At half-past eight Nance left the house, having 
 shown herself to her sister, made a last loving inquiry 
 as to her health, and taken possession of the note for 
 Gore. 
 
 As she passed out of the bedroom, Clodagh threw 
 off the fur rug that lay across her feet and sat 
 up with an expression of sharp attention. As the 
 sound of the closing hall -door reached her ears, 
 she drew a little breath of excitement and rose from 
 the couch with no appearance of her recent indis- 
 position. 
 
 Without calling in Simonetta she changed from 
 the white silk wrapper she was wearing into a black 
 walking-dress, and crossing to one of the wardrobes 
 took out a black hat and veil. 
 
 She scarcely looked at herself as she smoothed 
 her hair and fastened on her hat. Beneath the en- 
 forced repression of the afternoon, there burned in 
 her mind a certain sense of adventure — of enterprise 
 — that turned her hot and cold. For though the 
 
 435
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Irish nature may procrastinate, it takes action with 
 a very keen zest when once circumstance has com- 
 pelled a decisive step. 
 
 Having finished her dressing, she picked up a pair 
 of gloves, switched off the electric light, and left her 
 room. In the corridor outside she met one of the 
 maids; but without giving the woman time to show 
 any surprise, she made haste to offer an explanation. 
 
 " I have forgotten to tell Miss Asshlin something 
 of importance," she said. "I shall have to drive to 
 the theatre and see her. Please ring for the lift. 
 The porter will find me a cab." And without wait- 
 ing to observe the effect of the somewhat disjointed 
 statement, she passed to the hall-door. 
 
 A few minutes later the hall-porter had put her 
 into a hansom, telling the cabman to drive to the 
 Apollo Theatre. 
 
 While the cab - doors were being closed and the 
 order given, Clodagh sat very still; and for a few 
 minutes after they had started she lay back in her 
 seat, watching the familiar succession of lights and 
 trees and indistinct massed faces that form the 
 nightly picture between Knightsbridge and Picca 
 dilly; but at last, as Hyde Park Corner loomed into 
 view, she sat upright, and, raising her hand, shook 
 the roof trap. 
 
 The cabman checked the pace of his horse, and, 
 opening the little door, looked down. 
 
 "Don't mind the Apollo," she said. "Drive to 
 Carlton House Terrace instead." 
 
 The man muttered an assent, and, wheeling his 
 horse to the right, cut across the trafific. 
 
 Five or six minutes passed while the cab threaded 
 its way across the Green Park, past Buckingham 
 Palace into St. James's Park; then Clodagh gained 
 
 436
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 her first close view of Deerehurst's town-house. For 
 one moment she felt daunted by the unfamiliarity of 
 its aspect; but the next she rallied her determination, 
 and, stepping from the cab, paid her fare and walked 
 resolutely across the pavement to the imposing 
 door. 
 
 It was opened at once by a servant in very sombre 
 and decorous livery, who, having thrown the door 
 wide, looked at her, then looked at the cab just 
 wheeling away from the curb. There was nothing 
 uncivil in the man's glance — nothing that one could 
 reasonably complain of — yet, to her intense annoy- 
 ance, Clodagh colored. 
 
 "Is Lord Deerehurst at home?" she asked. 
 
 The servant's eyes left the retreating cab. 
 
 "Have you an appointment with his lordship?" 
 
 "If he is in, Lord Deerehurst will see me. I am 
 Mrs. Milbanke." 
 
 At the coldness of her tone, and her ready mention 
 of her name, his manner changed, though a flicker of 
 curiosity passed across his face. 
 
 "Are you the lady his lordship is expecting?" he 
 said, in a different voice. 
 
 "Yes, Lord Deerehurst is expecting me." 
 
 There was a slight pause; then, with the air of 
 one who admits a novice into inner mysteries, he 
 stepped back, ushering her up into the spacious hall. 
 
 "Will you kindly step this way?" he said. "His 
 lordship is in his study." 
 
 Glad that the ordeal of entering the house was 
 over, Clodagh readily followed the man across the 
 hall, up a wide stairs, and along a softly carpeted cor- 
 ridor. At the end of the passage he paused in front 
 of a curtained door, and. pushing the curtain back, 
 entered an unseen room. 
 
 4o7
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "The lady your lordship is expecting," she heard 
 him say. 
 
 Then he turned quickly and threw the door open 
 for her. An instant later she had entered Deere- 
 hurst's room. 
 
 At the moment her thoughts were too confused 
 to permit of detailed observation of the room, al- 
 though afterwards, when the interview had taken 
 place and she had time to sift reality from imagina- 
 tion, the scene and its central figure were destined 
 to stand out with the accuracy of a picture that has 
 made an indelible, if an unconscious, impression upon 
 the observer's mind. 
 
 The room was an anomaly, viewed from a studious 
 point of view ; but the merely artistic eye would have 
 found nothing to cavil at. It was not large, as one 
 counts rooms in a great London house, though else- 
 where it would have seemed spacious. Numberless 
 books in costly bindings were strewn about on tables 
 and in cases, but they were not the books of the 
 thinker. They were the romances, the memoirs, the 
 poems of the last half-century, but not one volume 
 dealt with science, or even with philosophy. The 
 walls were panelled in dark red; some beautiful 
 lamps hung from the ceiling; and in a distant cornep 
 a large silver bowl full of crimson roses was set up, as if 
 in homage to beauty, before an exquisitely modelled 
 statue of Venus. 
 
 In a quick, half-comprehended flash of instinct, it 
 came to Clodagh that she had never really seen 
 Deerehurst until now, as he stood backgrounded by 
 the atmosphere he himself had created. He was 
 dressed as he had been on the night in Venice when 
 she had first seen him. He wore the curiously cut 
 evening clothes that he always affected, and which 
 
 438
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 gave to his appearance the peculiar distinction that 
 set him apart from other men ; the diamond-ring that 
 she had noticed on that first night glittered on his 
 hand; and, as then, the black ribbon of his eye-glass 
 showed across his shirt - front. But more clearly 
 than in the dusk of the Venetian night she saw the 
 long outline of his face, the peculiar artificial pallor 
 of his skin, the cold vigilance of his eyes. And in 
 that moment of entry a faint, indescribable hesitancy 
 chilled her resolution. Involuntarily she halted on 
 the threshold of the room. 
 
 But Deerehurst gave no time for her indecision to 
 mature. As the door closed upon the servant he 
 came quickly forward and took the hand she mechan- 
 ically offered him. 
 
 For one moment he held her fingers closely; then 
 he lifted them, and, before she could anticipate the 
 action, pressed them to his lips. 
 
 That a man should kiss a woman's hand by way 
 of greeting is not necessarily a significant thing. 
 It may be a slightly ostentatious act — but it may 
 be nothing more. Uncertain how to construe the 
 movement, Clodagh gave a faint laugh and withdrew 
 her fingers. 
 
 " Were you very much surprised to get my 
 wire r 
 
 She moved awav from him into the middle of the 
 room. Now that she put it to the test, the interview 
 seemed infinitely more difficult than when contem- 
 plated from a distance. She felt nervous and ill at 
 ease. 
 
 Watching her with his close, attentive look, Deere- 
 hurst drew forward a chair. 
 
 "Sit down, little lady," he said, in his thin, im- 
 passive voice. 
 
 439
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Reassured by the formality of the action, she took 
 the proffered seat. 
 
 " Now take ofE your gloves. We shall feel more at 
 home." 
 
 Again she gave a little laugh. 
 
 "My gloves! But I must go in five minutes." 
 
 " In five minutes ? When the night is so young ?" 
 He drew forward another chair and sat down beside 
 her. 
 
 "Do you know how glad and proud I feel?" 
 
 She looked up quickly. His tone had subtly 
 changed. 
 
 "Lord Deerehurst," she said, "I must explain that 
 the reason I came — the reason I came, instead of 
 sending for you or writing — " 
 
 Deerehurst leaned forward and laid his cold hands 
 over hers. 
 
 "Let me take these off. It feels so very formal 
 and unlike ourselves." 
 
 He began softly to open the buttons of her glove 
 and draw it deftly from her hand. 
 
 "But you haven't listened to what I said," she 
 objected. "I want to explain at once, so that you 
 can understand at once — " 
 
 Before answering, he drew off the second glove and 
 laid the two upon the table. 
 
 "Why should you explain? Have I ever been 
 lacking in imagination?" 
 
 "No. Oh no, I did not mean that!" 
 
 "Then why explain anything? Don't you think 
 we have fenced with each other long enough ?" He 
 picked up the gloves quickly, and again laid them 
 down. "Don't you think I can understand without 
 explanation?" 
 
 "Understand?" 
 
 440
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Why you came to me to-night." 
 
 " Understand — why I came to-night?" 
 
 "I think so." 
 
 He turned and looked straight into her eyes. 
 
 At the look and the movement the blood leaped to 
 her face; she drew back into her chair. . 
 
 "And why do you think I came to-night?" 
 
 Very swiftly Deerehurst bent forward. 
 
 "I think, little lady, that you came because you 
 know that a man cannot be played with forever; 
 and because, being a very proud woman, you will not 
 say in so many words, ' I give you leave to love me.' 
 
 "Dear little Clodagh!" He suddenly put out his 
 hand towards hers. "It has all been very delightful 
 — your reticence and your innocence; but we both 
 know that such pretty things are perishable." 
 
 Clodagh sat perfectly still. She did not attempt 
 to withdraw her hand; she did not attempt to rise. 
 She sat watching him as if fascinated, while a hundred 
 recollections of looks, of words, of insinuations direct- 
 ed against her and him by Lady Frances Hope — by 
 Rose Bathurst — by other women of their set — strayed 
 in nightmare fashion across her mind. 
 
 Deerehurst sat watching her, his hand holding hers, 
 his eyes steadily reading her face. Then suddenly 
 he gave a short laugh and leaned back in his chair. 
 
 "Little actress," he said. 
 
 The words, but more than the words, the tone in 
 which they were spoken, roused her. She rose incon- 
 tinently to her feet, a sudden memory of Serracauld 
 and the card-room at Tuffnell sweeping across her 
 mind. 
 
 "Lord Deerehurst," she said, breathlessly, "there 
 is some terrible mistake. You utterly, utterly mis- 
 understand." 
 
 441
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 It was Deerehurst's turn to show emotion. For 
 the first time in her knowledge of him the mask of 
 impassivity dropped from his face; his cold eyes 
 gleamed unpleasantly. 
 
 "And how, little lady? I am not often accused of 
 misreading men — and women." 
 
 "You think — " She paused, unable to find the 
 words she needed. She felt like one who has in- 
 advertently stepped upon shifting sands, where the 
 ground had seemed most secure. 
 
 "You think — " she began again. 
 
 But she got no further. With a silent movement 
 Deerehurst laid his hand upon her arm. 
 
 "Don't you think we have fenced long enough? 
 Don't you think I have been extraordinarily pa- 
 tient?" 
 
 Clodagh turned very cold. 
 
 "Patient?" she said, indistinctly. 
 
 He drew her suddenly closer to him; and before 
 she could resist, he had kissed her hair, her lips, her 
 neck. 
 
 "Yes, patient, because I have never before asked 
 for this. Because I have been content to kiss your 
 hand, when I might long ago — " He bent over her 
 again. But something in the white face and wild 
 eyes that confronted him arrested him. He drew 
 back and looked at her. 
 
 "Come," he said, "the play is over! Give me a 
 kiss of your own accord." 
 
 Clodagh said nothing. Terror mastered her. 
 
 "Come! Give me a kiss!" 
 
 She lay almost passive in his embrace, her lips 
 parted, her eyes fixed on his. 
 
 He gave another short laugh, half-indulgent, half- 
 triumphant. 
 
 442
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "What a little saint! Come! Show me why you 
 came to me to-night. Be human. Be what you 
 know you are." 
 
 Clodagh made no answer; but he felt her sway a 
 little in his arms. 
 
 "What is it?" he asked, sharply. Selfish annoy- 
 ance was written on his face, though he asked the 
 question solicitously. 
 
 "I feel faint," she said; "a little faint." 
 
 "Faint? Nonsense! It will pass. Rest for a 
 moment." Without ceremony he half lifted her 
 across the room to a couch that stood between the 
 fireplace and the door. 
 
 "Poor little girl. Don't be frightened. It will 
 pass in a minute. Is there anything you would 
 like?" 
 
 Clodagh opened her eyes. 
 
 "A little water, I think," she said, in a tremulous 
 voice. 
 
 His face cleared. 
 
 "Or some champagne? Nothing would pick you 
 up like a glass of champagne. Why did I not think 
 of it before ? Lie perfectly still. We will have some 
 champagne in one moment." 
 
 With the possibilities held out by the idea he 
 turned eagerly from the couch, and crossed the room 
 to the electric bell that was placed beside his desk. 
 
 But, quick as lightning, the instant his back was 
 turned, Clodagh was on her feet. With a movement 
 so swift and silent that only fear could have inspired 
 it, she slipped to the door, opened it, and was speeding 
 down the long corridor to the stairs. 
 
 The house was silent. The upper portion seemed 
 darker than when she had arrived. The hall alone 
 lay brightly lighted — a place of hope and promise, 
 
 443
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 figuring the world outside — the good, wholesome 
 world lying suddenly within her reach. 
 
 She ran down the broad stairs, indifferent to the 
 fact that the servant who had admitted her had risen 
 from a seat near the door and was looking at her 
 in frank surprise. Her ears were strained to catch 
 any sound from up - stairs, her eyes were on the 
 door. 
 
 As she hurried across the hall the man came 
 forward. 
 
 "Do you require a cab, madam?" he asked, a little 
 doubtfully. 
 
 "No. Just open the door." 
 
 Still with a shade of uncertainty he obeyed, and 
 at the same instant Deerehurst's voice sounded from 
 the head of the stairs. 
 
 What he said — whether he addressed her or the 
 servant — Clodagh never knew. At the mere sound 
 of his high, thin tones she went blindly forward 
 through the open door. 
 
 As she passed down the steps, a cab wheeled round 
 the corner of Carlton House Terrace. Instinctively 
 she looked towards it, still animated by the desire 
 for flight. But the next instant she looked away 
 again, realizing that it already held a fare and that 
 there was luggage on the roof. 
 
 In the perturbation of the moment she failed to 
 see, what was infinitely more material, that the occxi- 
 pant of the cab was Valentine Serracauld; that he 
 had leaned forward in sudden, eager curiosity as 
 she passed down the steps of the house to which he 
 was driving; and that, as she turned her head in his 
 direction, he had drawn quickly back into the shadow 
 of his seat. 
 
 444
 
 SllK WAS SI'KIMJINC. DOWN TIIK LONG CORRIDOR TO TIIIC 
 
 STAIRS "
 
 XLIV 
 
 ALMOST immediately a second cab appeared, and, 
 ^ linding it at her disposal, Clodagh hailed it 
 eagerly and gave the address of the flat. 
 
 As the horse sped away in the direction of her 
 home, she sat almost motionless, her only gesture 
 being to lift her hands to her eyes from time to time, 
 as if to shut out some near and unpleasant vision. 
 Life in its crudest, its most repulsive aspect stared at 
 her out of the darkness. She sat crushed by the 
 disillusionment of the last hour. 
 
 And a new furtiveness — born of the new realization 
 — assailed her when at last she stepped from the cab 
 at her own door. With an instinctive lessening of 
 her natural fearlessness she hurried through the ves- 
 tibule and passed straight to the lift. Gaining her 
 own door she let herself in by her latch-key, and 
 then paused, looking fearfully and eagerly about, 
 in expectation of some unwished-for sound. But 
 everything in the flat was still; and crossing the hall, 
 she entered her own room. The electric light had 
 been switched on and the place set in order, and Simon- 
 etta sat at the dressing-table, mending a piece of lace. 
 
 "No one has come back?" Clodagh asked. 
 
 "No one, signora." Simonetta arose and turned 
 to her mistress. 
 
 Seeing the expression on her face, Clodagh nervous- 
 ly anticipated her words. 
 
 445
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "My head still aches," she said. "I think you 
 may go. I should like to be alone." 
 
 From previous knowledge of her moods, the woman 
 made no protestations, but folded up her work and 
 went quietly towards the door. 
 
 As she gained it, Clodagh turned. 
 
 "Simonetta!" 
 
 "Yes, signora?" 
 
 "Tell the servants they are to say nothing to any 
 one of my having gone out to-night. You under- 
 stand?" 
 
 "I understand, signora." 
 
 "That is all; good-night." 
 
 "Good-night, signora." 
 
 It would be futile to relate the thoughts that 
 passed through Clodagh's mind in the hour that 
 followed Simonetta's departure; but when, at half- 
 past eleven, Nance returned from the theatre, and, 
 hurrying to the bedroom, opened the door swiftly 
 and anxiously, she was standing by one of the open 
 windows, her hat and veil still on, her gaze fixed 
 resolutely on the shadowy trees of the park. 
 
 Crossing the threshold softly, Nance tiptoed into 
 the room. 
 
 "Clo," she whispered, "how are you? Better?" 
 Then she paused in pleased surprise. 
 
 "What? You've been out ? Then you are better. 
 How glad Walter will be! He insisted on coming 
 back to know how you were." 
 
 At Gore's name, Clodagh started and looked round. 
 
 "Walter here?" she said. 
 
 "Yes; but, Clo, what's the matter? You've been 
 crying!" 
 
 Clodagh stepped to her side and laid her hand im- 
 peratively on her arm. 
 
 446
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Hush!" she whispered. "Go back at once and 
 tell Walter that I'm — that I'm asleep. Tell him 
 that Simonetta said I was better and fell asleep. 
 Tell him anything you can think of that will make 
 him happy and get him away. He must be got 
 away. I can't see him. Do you understand, 
 Nance? He must be got away." 
 
 For one surprised moment Nance looked at her 
 sister; then, conquering her curiosity, she turned 
 quietly and moved to the door. 
 
 "All right, darling," she said, reassuringly; "I'll 
 send him away happy." 
 
 Clodagh put her hand across her eyes. 
 
 "Thank God!" she said. "If you had asked me 
 one more question I couldn't have borne it. Send 
 him away, and then come back." 
 
 In silence Nance left the room. Five minutes 
 passed; ten minutes; then Clodagh's straining ears 
 caught the closing of the outer door, and her hand 
 dropped to her side in a gesture of excessive relief. 
 
 "Thank God!" she said, again. 
 
 When Nance re-entered, she was still standing 
 in the middle of the room, her face white and tear- 
 stained, her figure braced. 
 
 "Nance," she said, almost before the door had 
 closed upon her sister, " I am going to tell you things 
 I have never told you before. I feel I shall go mad 
 to-night if I don't tell some one. Don't ask me any 
 questions. Just listen, and — if you can — love me." 
 
 Nance paused just inside the door. Her own face 
 looked pale above the shimmering blue -and -silver 
 of her evening-dress; her dark-blue eyes were full of a 
 peculiarly tender light. 
 
 " I don't love you, Clo," she said, below her breath. 
 "I adore you. Tell me whatever you like." 
 
 447
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Clodagh threw out her hands despairingly. 
 " I'm not worth love like that," she cried. " You'll 
 know it when I've finished. Do you remember, long 
 ago, Nance, when James and I went to Venice ? Do 
 you remember my letters from Venice.?" 
 
 Nance showed no surprise at the sudden, irrelevant 
 questions. 
 
 "All of them," she answered. " I have them all." 
 "Then you remember how I met Frances Hope 
 and Val Serracauld — and Lord Deerehurst .?" 
 "I remember." 
 
 "I was very much alone at that time, Nance. 
 James was only a shadow in my life; and they — 
 they seemed like sunshine, and I wanted the sun- 
 shine. I have always been like a child, turning to 
 bright, tawdry things." 
 
 " Clo, you're upset to-night. You're ill." 
 "No, I'm not. I've been seeing myself and seeing 
 my life to-night. I liked these people — I liked these 
 men who talked to me and flattered me and ignored 
 the fact that I had a husband — I liked them and en- 
 couraged them. And one night, on the balcony of 
 the Palazza Ugochini— " She stopped, then made 
 a sudden gesture, as if to sweep unnecessary things 
 aside. "But I won't talk of that!" she cried. "It 
 is the later time I want to come to, the time after 
 James's death when I met Frances Hope again." 
 She paused to regain her breath, but the look of de- 
 termination did not leave her face. Her dark eyes 
 seemed almost to challenge Nance's. "When I went 
 to Monte Carlo with Frances," she went on, "I did 
 not go to forget poor James's death, as you beheved; 
 I went to forget something else that had made me 
 much more unhappy; and the way I set about for- 
 getting was to gamble. Yes, I know what you feel. 
 
 448
 
 THE GAMBLHR 
 
 I know what you think! Hut it cannot alter any- 
 thing,'. 1 ^'ambled. 1 lost large sums of money that 
 Frances advanced me. I luid to borrow, because there 
 were formalities to be gone through about James's 
 will before I could draw my income. Then I came 
 back to London; I met Val Scrracauld and Lord 
 Deerehurst again; I took an expensive flat; I hved 
 hke people six times as well oflE as myself; I gambled 
 again — " 
 
 "Clodagh!" 
 
 Clodagh put up her hand. 
 
 "Wait! It's all leading up to something. I was 
 utterly foolish, utterly mad. I l^orrowcd again to 
 pay my debts at bridge. Then one day Frances 
 asked me for her money. It seemed like the end of 
 the world; but it was a debt of honor — it couldn't 
 be shirked. I wrote her out a check that left me 
 beggared of the half-year's income I had been count- 
 ing on to put me straight." 
 
 "Oh, Clo, Clo! Why wasn't I here?" 
 
 "Yes, why wasn't somebody here? But the worst 
 is to come. I did not know where to look, I did not 
 know where to turn, when suddenly — quite suddenly 
 — I thought of your thousand pounds — " 
 
 Nance gave a little gasp. 
 
 "I remembered that. And, Nance — Nance, can 
 you guess what happened?" 
 
 Nance did not attempt to answer. 
 
 "I took that thousand pounds. I stole it. Don't 
 say anything! Don't try to excuse me! I want to 
 face things. I told myself I would write and tell 
 you; then I told myself I would say it when you came 
 back. But when you did come" — she halted for a 
 second — "when you did come, Nance, you loved me, 
 you admired me, you respected me, and — and I 
 '9 449
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 couldn't. When you asked me for the money that 
 night at Tuffnell, I knew I would have to find it and 
 pay it back without making any confession to you." 
 
 A sound that was almost a moan escaped Nance's 
 lips. 
 
 "Yes!" Clodagh cried; "yes! I know exactly how 
 great a fool I was. But what is done is done. The 
 day you drove to Wynchley with Lady Diana and 
 Walter, I stayed behind to write to Mr. Barnard and 
 ask him to advance me the money. But somehow I 
 couldn't do that either; and then — hate me, Nance! 
 Hate me, if you like! Lord Deerehurst came to me 
 when I was most disheartened, most depressed, and 
 offered to lend me the money." 
 
 "And you took it?" Nance said, almost quietly. 
 
 "I took it. Yes, I took it. I have always been 
 like that — always — always ; grasping at the easy 
 things, letting the hard ones slip by. And now! 
 Now!" 
 
 "Now?" 
 
 "Nance, listen!" She took a swift step forward. 
 "It was because of that loan that I couldn't slight 
 him since we came back to town. You were right — 
 you were quite right in all you advised ; but I couldn't 
 do it. He had lent me the money. He had seemed 
 my best friend. I felt I couldn't do it— until yester- 
 day. 
 
 "But yesterday, when he left, and Walter spoke 
 of him, I knew there was no choice. It was my own 
 happiness or his friendship. And I — I decided for 
 my own happiness." 
 
 She stopped, and drew a quick, deep breath. 
 
 Nance clasped her hands, fearfully conscious that 
 more was still to come. 
 
 "When I have a difficult thing to do," Clodagh 
 
 45°
 
 THH GAMBLER 
 
 went on, " I must do it quickly. I can't wait, I can't 
 prepare and plan, I can't brood over things. After 
 Walter left yesterday, 1 decided that what must be 
 done, must be done at once. I made up my mind 
 that I would see Lord Deerehurst to-night; that I 
 would be quite candid with him, explain my position 
 — and appeal to his generosity to let our friendship 
 end." 
 
 "Then to-night—?" 
 
 "To-night was all a deception. I had no head- 
 ache — I wasn't ill. I shammed it all, that I might 
 be alone." 
 
 "And while we were at the theatre, you sent for 
 him—?" 
 
 "No! I went to Carlton House Terrace to see 
 him." 
 
 "Went to see him! Clo!" 
 
 "I said you could hate me! Do hate me! De- 
 spise me! Think anything you like! I went to see 
 him; I went to his house — at night, alone — thinking, 
 believing — Oh!" She made a gesture of acute 
 self-disgust. "Nance, need I say it all? Need I? 
 Need I? Can't you understand without my saying? 
 All that I had imagined about his friendship was un- 
 true. Such people don't understand friendship. All 
 along he had been waiting, quietly and silently, like 
 one of those horrible hawks we used to watch at 
 Orristown — waiting to swoop down when the right 
 moment came." With an almost hysterical gesture 
 she put her hand to her throat. 
 
 Nance's face had become very white, but in the 
 intensity of her pity and love she did not dare to 
 approach her sister. 
 
 "Clo," she whispered, "you must tell Walter." 
 
 Clodagh's face suddenly flamed. 
 
 451
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Tell Walter! Tell Walter that I owe Deerehurst 
 a thousand pounds — that I lied to him and to you 
 all to-night, that I might go alone to Deerehurst's 
 house! You don't know Walter! There is only one 
 thing in the world that I can do — that I must do — 
 and that is to go to Ireland and arrange about rais- 
 ing money on my share of Orristown. It can be done 
 somehow. Father did it. I shall not eat or sleep 
 or think until that thousand pounds is paid." 
 
 Prompted by a swift and eager impulse, Nance's 
 face flushed, and she ran forward. Then almost as 
 she reached her sister's side her expression changed. 
 She suddenly curbed her impetousity. 
 
 "Perhaps it would be a good idea," she said, slowly. 
 "When would you like to go?" 
 
 "To-night if I could. I feel; oh, I feel—" Clo- 
 dagh put her hands over her face. 
 
 Nance stood watching her for a moment longer. 
 Then she slipped softly to her side and put one arm 
 about her neck. 
 
 "Don't be sad, darling," she murmured. "Don't 
 be sad. You shall go to Ireland to-morrow, if you 
 Hke; and all the planning — all the explaining to 
 Walter and to everybody — will be done by me." 
 
 And so it came to pass, in the extraordinary way 
 with which events sometimes precipitate themselves, 
 that at four o'clock on the following afternoon Clo- 
 dagh was borne swiftly out of Paddington station on 
 the first stage of her journey to Ireland. 
 
 The chain of incidents that had been forged by 
 Nance to make this departure feasible, as well as pos- 
 sible, had been too minute and complex to make any 
 impression upon Clodagh's mind. Her confession the 
 night before had been more a confession to herself 
 
 452
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 than a conscious unburdening of her soul to other 
 ears, and, having made it, she was satisfied to resign 
 herself into any hands that were wilHng and capable 
 of guiding her actions. 
 
 The first incident of the morning had been a visit 
 from Gore. But it had been Nance who had inter- 
 viewed him first; and a quarter of an hour later, 
 when Clodagh had come into the drawing-room, 
 nervous and guilty, she had found him full of sym- 
 pathy and soUcitude for what he believed to be her 
 sudden recall to Ireland. Then had come the Est- 
 coits, and with their advent more solicitude and 
 more sympathy. Lunch-time had crept upon them 
 almost unawares, and — again on Nance's initiative — 
 the whole party had adjourned to the Hyde Park 
 Hotel and had partaken of a meal in company. 
 
 More than once during the crowded hours of the 
 morning, Clodagh had striven to draw her sister 
 aside; but Nance, animated by an unusual excite- 
 ment, had evaded every possibihty of a tcte-k- 
 tete. 
 
 It was only at the door of the railway carriage, 
 when Gore and Estcoit were superintending the 
 labelling of her luggage, and Mrs. Estcoit and Daisy 
 were buying books and papers for her amusement, 
 that at last they had a word in private. Clodagh 
 was standing in the open door^vay of the carriage, 
 and Nance was on the step, when quite suddenly the 
 latter put up her hand and pressed a letter between 
 her sister's fingers. 
 
 "My proper good-bye is in this letter, darling," 
 she said. " I couldn't say it before everybody. Kiss 
 mc, will you ?" 
 
 Impulsively Clodagh bent forward, and the sisters 
 exchanged a long kiss. 
 
 453
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "You have been an angel, Nance. I will thank 
 you when— when — " 
 
 "No! No! There can never be thanks between 
 you and me. We are one. Remember that always! 
 Always, Clo — always!" 
 
 She drew back quickly as the rest of the party 
 came hurrying to the carriage. 
 
 And so the good-byes had all been said, and the 
 train had steamed out of the station ; she had watched 
 the platform melt into obscurity and then had dropped 
 into her seat with that sense of quiet — of flatness — 
 that follows the moments of parting. 
 
 The long railway journey and the night crossing 
 to Ireland still lay between her and action. She 
 looked impatiently at her travelling companions, 
 an uninteresting brother and sister who had already 
 buried themselves behind newspapers in their re- 
 spective corners of the carriage, and almost angrily 
 she turned to the heap of magazines lying beside her; 
 but as she did so her glance brightened. Nance's 
 letter was still to be read. 
 
 In the midst of her perplexities a tender thought 
 flashed over her mind as she opened the envelope, 
 and her face softened instinctively as she began to 
 read. But gradually, as her glance passed from 
 one line to another, her expression changed, she sat 
 upright in her seat, her bearing altered in a sudden, 
 inexplicable manner. The letter began: 
 
 "Darling, darling Clo, — I must have seemed a wretch 
 last night and to-day! I mean I must have seemed very 
 strange, showing hardly any surprise or sympathy at any- 
 thing you told me, and taking your going to Ireland as though 
 it were a thing that happened every day. But, Clo, it wasn't 
 because I didn't love and worship you, and feel for you in 
 every tiny thing, but because I was afraid you would guess 
 
 454
 
 SIIK I)Ri;W HAi K tjl UKLV AS till-: KKST l)K TIIK I'AkTV CAMK 
 IHKRVIN'O TO TIIK TARRIAr.!;"
 
 THli GAMBLER 
 
 what was really in my mind — what I was plotting and plan- 
 ning all the time. 
 
 "Clo, 1 wanted you to go to Ireland because — oh, do for- 
 give me for even writing it! — I wanted tt) get you away. 
 
 "Dearest, you arc to do no more silly things. At the risk 
 of hurting you, I am saying this. You used to say long ago 
 that 1 saw more than you, because I looked on, instead of 
 doing things myself. Clo, you are nut to raise money on 
 Orristown, because you have no need to do it. Lord Deere- 
 hurst has been paid his thousand pounds and you are free — 
 finite free. 
 
 "My little sister, imagine that my arms are round your 
 neck so tight that you can't be vexed! When you told me 
 last night that my thou.sand pounds really belonged to him, 
 my first thought was to say, 'Well, let's give him back as 
 much of it as wo have left!' But I stopped in lime. You 
 were not in the mood last night to take the most loving 
 favor in the world. You wanted to sacrifice yourself; so 
 instead of saying what was in my heart, I locked it up closely 
 and thought about it all night, and before you were awake 
 this morning I sent for Pierce and asked him to lend me 
 three hundred pounds — the three hundred we had spent out 
 of the thousand. 
 
 "Don't say anything, darling! Don't be angry! Don't 
 even think! Pierce was perfectly sweet; he never asked one 
 question, and at three o'clock to-day, just after we came 
 back from lunch, I sent the thousand pounds in notes to 
 Carlton House Terrace, with a card of yours enclosed. 
 
 " Darling, don't be vexed! Don't question it! It is right, 
 I know. It was a debt of honor, in the fullest sense. 
 
 "And now, Clo, it's all iinished, all done with, all passed, 
 and you can repay me the money slowly in years and years. 
 Be happy! Oh, darling, be happy! Go back to Orristown. 
 as I would have you to go back, with your heart full of all 
 the great, good, true love that Walter and I have for you. 
 
 "Ride and walk and swim, and be without one care, and 
 in a week or two, when the hateful thought of last night has 
 been swept away by the splendid, strong sea-winds, come 
 back to us, a newer, wiser, happier Clodagh. 
 
 "Darling, I am, now and always, 
 
 "Your true sister, 
 
 "Nance." 
 
 455
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Clodagh closed the letter; then suddenly she rose 
 from her seat and stepped from the carriage into the 
 narrow corridor. 
 
 The engine was swinging forward at great speed; 
 the train itself was swaying to the swift motion; 
 outside, the pleasant English country seemed to 
 fly past the long line of windows. For a second 
 she stood by the carriage door; then she stepped 
 forward to the open window and, leaning out, let the 
 strong current of air play upon her face, blowing 
 back the hair from her temples. 
 
 How good God was! How good the world was! 
 The great machinery of the train — the great wheels 
 of life — ground out the same sudden song. She was 
 free! By the unlimited power of love, she had been 
 made free!
 
 XLV 
 
 IT was eleven o'clock on the day following when 
 Clodagh's train steamed into the little station of 
 Muskeere. Her boat had arrived in Cork in the early- 
 hours of the morning; but she had only given herself 
 time to take a hurried breakfast at one of the hotels 
 before driving to the railway station. Now that she 
 had set foot in Ireland, the racial love of home had 
 awakened in her, making the hours leaden until she 
 could find herself at Orristown. 
 
 The great lifting of the spirit that Nance's letter 
 had brought into being had not subsided since the 
 moment she had arisen from her seat in the train, 
 filled with the knowledge that an insupportable 
 burden had been lifted from her. At Reading she 
 had despatched an answering telegram to her sister, 
 and for nearly an hour afterwards she had sat in the 
 corner of her carriage, covering sheet after sheet of 
 note-paper with hasty pencilling. Two letters were 
 the result: one to Nance, all love, all spontaneous 
 gratitude; the other to Gore, full of tenderness, of 
 promise, of almost vehement reassurance. 
 
 Thus the long and usually monotonous train jour- 
 ney ran itself out, and in the confused darkness of the 
 crowded landing-stage she went on board the boat 
 at New Milford. 
 
 The crossing of the sea had ever been a delight to 
 Clodagh. The love of the sea — the almost mystical 
 
 457
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 knowledge of it — was in her blood. And that night 
 for many hours she had paced the deck, rejoicing 
 after a fashion understood by few in each forward 
 plunge of the vessel — in the sense of exhilaration and 
 action conveyed each time the prow dipped to cut 
 the waves and send the spray flying. 
 
 She was going home. There had seemed a curious, 
 thrilling sensation in the knowledge. She was going 
 home. After many experiences, she was returning 
 to the spot where her life had first separated its 
 thread from the great tapestry of existence — the 
 spot where happiness and unhappiness had first pre- 
 sented themselves as differentiated things — where the 
 elemental facts of pain and pleasure had been first 
 demonstrated to her unformed mind. The memory 
 of Orristown had materialized as she had walked 
 to and fro under the summer sky powdered with 
 faint stars, and she had closed her eyes until the salt 
 sting of the sea had conjured up the square, white 
 house, the green fields, and the long, shelving rocks. 
 
 The picture had remained with her long after she 
 retired to her cabin, and had been still before her 
 mind when the first low line of Irish land had broken 
 across her vision in the silvery morning. Then it 
 had been dispersed by more immediate things — the 
 arrival at Cork — the breakfast — the drive across the 
 town to the Muskeere train — until at last the shrill 
 whistle of the small engine, announcing that her 
 destination was reached, swept everything but the 
 incidents of the moment from her consideration. 
 
 As the train stopped she sprang to her feet and 
 leaned out of the window. How intensely familiar 
 it was — the narrow platform; the wooden pahng, 
 behind which the incursion of summer visitors to 
 Muskeere congregated each day to watch the Cork 
 
 458
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 trains arrive; the slovenly, good-natured porter, 
 absolutely unaltered by the passage of time. 
 
 Her thoughts swam as she tried vainly to recon- 
 cile her own many experiences with this amazing 
 changelessness. Then all need for such comparison 
 was brushed aside as a tall figure came striding down 
 the platform, followed by a couple of dogs, and she 
 recognized Laurence Asshlin. 
 
 Her first conscious thought was "How fine-looking 
 he has grown!" her second "How badly his clothes 
 are made!" Then she laughed to herself from happi- 
 ness, and from that sense of comradeship and clannish- 
 ness to which the Irish nature is so susceptible. 
 
 "Larr>'!" she cried, a moment later, as she threw 
 the carriage door open. 
 
 But her dog Mick was the first to gain her side. 
 Leaping forward at sound of her voice, he sprang 
 into the carriage, whimpering with joy. 
 
 "Mick! Darling Mick! Oh, you bad thing!" 
 She laughed again delightedly; then she turned, 
 flushed and radiant, to greet her cousin. 
 
 "Hold him, Larry. That's better. Now, how 
 are you?" She held out her hand and laid it in 
 Asshlin's disengaged one. 
 
 Larry flushed with excitement and embarrassment. 
 
 "How are you, Clo ? You're awfully unchanged. 
 Let me help you out. The trap is waiting." 
 . As in a dream, she passed through the little station 
 that had seemed so large and imposing to her childish 
 eyes in the time when a day's shopping in Cork had 
 represented the acme of adventure and enterprise; 
 but half-way down the narrow platform she paused. 
 
 "Oh, the sea, Larry!" she exclaimed, drawing in a 
 long, deep breath; "the heavenly smell of the sea!" 
 Then she suddenly caught sight of Burke, waiting 
 
 459
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 as he might have waited six years ago, beside the 
 high, old-fashioned trap. 
 
 "The same trap!" she said, with a httle gasp. 
 
 AsshHn laughed. 
 
 "The same, only for a coat of varnish. But won't 
 you speak to Tim?" He added the last a trifle 
 diffidently, with a shy glance at her costly clothes 
 and her general air of refinement and distinction. 
 
 Without a word she went forward. 
 
 "Tim!" she said, very softly. 
 
 The old man turned quickly, then drew back. 
 
 But Clodagh held out her hand, regardless of the 
 staring summer visitors. 
 
 "Tim, I'm not so changed that you don't know 
 me?" 
 
 The old man remained motionless. 
 
 "I'd know you if I was under the sod and the sound 
 of your voice come anear me," he said, almost sol- 
 emnly. 
 
 Clodagh felt her throat tighten as the old, horny 
 hand was slowly extended to clasp her own. 
 
 "I'm glad to be home, Tim," she said, impulsively; 
 "I'm glad to be home." 
 
 There was a delay of several minutes while the 
 porter extricated her luggage from the van, and dur- 
 ing this interval she found time to admire the young 
 horse, which had been bred at Orristown, and to 
 make friends with the Irish terrier that had been 
 Mick's companion on the run to Muskeere, besides 
 asking a dozen questions concerning people and 
 things at Carrigmore. Then at last the trunk was 
 deposited under the roomy seat of the trap, and 
 Asshlin stepped forward to help her into her place. 
 
 "Larry," she said, pausing with her foot on the 
 step, "may I drive? I'd love to drive." 
 
 460
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Asshlin gave a ready assent, and, taking his own 
 seat, handed her the reins, while Burke mounted to 
 the back of the trap. 
 
 It was wonderful to Clodagh, that first gathering 
 up of reins rendered hard by long service and Irish 
 rain — that first forward start into the strong, sea- 
 scented air. A sudden joy filled her. She was young ; 
 the world was a goodly place, when one studied it in 
 this untainted atmosphere; above all, she was pos- 
 sessor of the great prize — love. Far away, in the 
 tumult and press of the greatest city in the world, 
 the man she set above all others, thought of her — 
 waited for her — trusted her. 
 
 Out of her own bright confidence, she made the 
 sunny morning brighter, as she drove along the well- 
 remembered roads, halting every mile or so to gaze 
 at some thrice-familiar object that stood now as it 
 had stood in the days of her babyhood. 
 
 At last Carrigmore was reached. She saw the 
 clustering pink -and -white cottages of the village; 
 the sleeping ruins guarded by the " round-tower" ; the 
 long, yellow strand and the glassy bay, on whose 
 farther headland stood the house of Orristown — a 
 square white patch to be seen for many miles. She 
 looked at it all long and closely. 
 
 "Oh, Larry," she said, below her breath, "how 
 wonderfully the same it is! Nance told me, but I 
 couldn't imagine it. Why, there's scarcely a weed 
 changed!" 
 
 Asshlin laughed a little. 
 
 "We didn't think you'd care much about it, after 
 Italy and places," he said, with a slight touch of shy 
 awkwardness that seemed more than ever to link 
 the present with the past. 
 
 "Not care about it! Larry! Her voice quivered; 
 
 461
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 then she laughed quickly, and touched the horse with 
 the whip. 
 
 "Shall we go straight to Orristown, or shall I run 
 in and see Aunt Fan?" 
 
 Asshlin looked slightly distressed. 
 
 "You're tired after the journey," he said. "And, 
 anyway, it's one of her bad days. They come oftener 
 than ever now. To-morrow she'll enjoy seeing you 
 more." 
 
 A quick recollection of her aunt on her bad days 
 swept over Clodagh's mind, and she looked up sud- 
 denly into Larry's handsome, spirited face. 
 
 "Is she often cross now, Larry?" she asked, as she 
 might have asked when they were children. 
 
 Asshlin turned at the sound of her voice ; his diffi- 
 dence forsook him; the old comradeship, the old sense 
 of sympathy and understanding came rushing back. 
 
 "She is harder than ever to get on with," he said. 
 "And every day seems worse than the last. Some- 
 times" — he stopped, but a shadow of discontent, of 
 depression, had darkened his face. 
 
 "Poor Larry!" Clodagh said, very softly. And 
 without further comment she turned the horse's 
 head in the direction of Orristown. 
 
 The cousins spoke rather less during the drive along 
 the low, flat road lying parallel to the strand; but, 
 despite the silence, each was conscious of an awakened 
 fellowship, and as they descended the sharp hill that 
 led to the gates of Orristown, Clodagh pointed with 
 her whip to where the sky hung low and brooding 
 over the glassy line of the horizon. 
 
 "This heat will break in a storm, Larry," she said, 
 aware of having spoken the same words a hundred 
 times in almost the same spot. 
 
 Asshlin scanned the sea thoughtfully. 
 
 462
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "I believe you're right," he answered. "But a 
 puff of wind would do no harm. You'd like a scud 
 across the bay, wouldn't you?" 
 
 Clodagh's eyes danced. 
 
 "Love it!" she substituted, enthusiastically- 
 "Come for me at ten to-morrow, Larry, and we'l 
 sail back together to Carrigmore. We'll have a long 
 day there and see ever>ahing, and then you'll come 
 back with me to dinnei." She flashed a quick smile 
 at him as she piloted the trap through the rusty gates. 
 
 As they swept up the long, narrow drive, she looked 
 eagerly to right and left; then suddenly she gave a 
 little laugh of pleasure, and waved her whip towards 
 a field that skirted the avenue, in which a very old 
 man had paused in the act of digging potatoes, and 
 now stood in an attitude of rigid salutation, a broken, 
 felt hat held above his head. 
 
 "Look, Larry! It's Pat Foley! Poor old Pat! 
 Isn't it lovely the way every one remembers?" 
 
 Her eyes filled with sudden tears as they passed 
 the last clump of trees and came full upon the old 
 white house; then, as the horse drew up sharply under 
 the well-remembered iron balcony, she gave a little 
 cry and threw the reins to Asshlin. 
 
 Hannah had opened the hall-door, and stood broad- 
 faced, honest, beaming as of old. 
 
 "My darlin'!" she cried. "My darlin'!" 
 
 And in an instant, regardless of her dress and of 
 the eyes of Asshlin and Burke, Clodagh sprang to 
 the ground and rushed into the arms that had so 
 often sheltered her. 
 
 At eight o'clock on the same evening, Clodagh, 
 with Mick at her feet, sat in a shabby leather arm- 
 chair by the open window of the bedroom that she 
 
 463
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 had shared with Nance for so many 3^ears. Outside 
 the soft beating of the sea against the rocks came to 
 her ears with strange famiharity; by her side stood 
 a small table set out with a homely tea ; while in front 
 of her, jealously watchful that she did justice to the 
 meal, stood Hannah, 
 
 "An' 'tis a millonaire they tells me the child is 
 goin' to marry?" she asked, in one of her tentative, 
 round-about questions. "Glory be to God, an' she 
 only out of the school!" 
 
 Clodagh glanced through the window at the golden 
 evening sky. 
 
 "You married me before I had been to school, 
 Hannah," she said, below her breath. 
 
 The old, shrewd light gleamed in Hannah's eyes. 
 She moved awkwardly and yet softly round the tea- 
 table and laid her broad hand on Clodagh's shoulder. 
 
 "Many's the day I do be ponderin' on that match. 
 Miss Clodagh," she said, earnestly. "The ways of 
 God are dark; and what I done, I done for the best." 
 
 Clodagh, touched by the deep solicitude of the voice, 
 put her own smooth hand over the old rough one. 
 
 "I'm sure God did everything as it should be 
 done, Hannah. Because it — it has all come right in 
 the end." 
 
 Hannah's hand dropped from her shoulder in sud- 
 den excitement. 
 
 "Miss Clodagh," she said, breathlessly — "Miss 
 Clodagh, is it a husband you'll be thinkin' to take?" 
 ' Again Clodagh's gaze wandered across the sky, 
 melting now from gold to orange. 
 
 "There is a man who wants to take me for his 
 wife, Hannah," she corrected, very gently. 
 
 "An' you do be puttin' him before everythin' in 
 the world?" 
 
 464
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Clodagh turned swiftly and met the small, anxious 
 eyes. 
 
 "So much before everything, that if I were to lose 
 him now I should lose" — she paused for an instant, 
 then added — "myself." 
 
 Hannah's eyes narrowed in the intensity of her 
 concern. 
 
 "An' he do be carin' for you. Miss Clodagh ?" 
 
 Clodagh leaned forward, and the warm light from 
 the sunset touched and transfigured her face. 
 
 "Yes. He cares," she said, very slowly. 
 30
 
 XLVI 
 
 LATE on the afternoon that followed her arrival, 
 ^ Clodagh — with Larry in attendance — climbed 
 up the uneven path that led from the Orristown 
 boat-cove to the house. A considerable change had 
 taken place in the weather since the previous evening. 
 The sky no longer hung low and motionless above the 
 horizon-line; the sea no longer shone white and 
 polished as a mirror. A gale had sprung up, breaking 
 the clouds and whipping the sea into small, green 
 waves, and more than once, as the cousins clambered 
 up the rugged track, Asshlin paused to look back at 
 his small boat, lying with furled sail and shipped 
 oars on the shingle. 
 
 "I hope I've beached her high enough," he said. 
 "There will be a big sea to-night." 
 
 Clodagh laughed. The prospect of a storm stirred 
 her. She felt boundlessly happy, boundlessly con- 
 fident in this free, open life. 
 
 The night before, after Larry had left her and the 
 first tinge of twilight had fallen across the old house, 
 there had been a moment in which the ghosts of 
 memory had threatened to assail her — to come 
 trooping up the gaunt staircase and through the 
 great, bare rooms. But her will had conquered ; she 
 had dispelled the phantoms, and had slept dream- 
 lessly in the big four-post bed. 
 
 In the morning she had awakened, as James Mil- 
 
 466
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 banke had awakened long ago, to a world of light 
 and joy — but with this difference, that to him the 
 world had been a thing to speculate upon and study, 
 while to her it was a thing familiar — understood — 
 possessed. While she partook of breakfast, and 
 while she visited the stables, she kept Hannah by her 
 side, learning from her the vicissitudes of the many 
 humble lives around Orristown that had been known 
 to her since childhood ; then, before the tales had been 
 half recounted, Larry had arrived in his boat, and 
 the two cousins, like children playing at a long-loved 
 game, had gone down together to the boat-cove to 
 where the little craft flashed its white sail like a sea- 
 gull in the sun, and danced with impatience to be 
 off across the crisp, green waves. 
 
 Clodagh's first act on landing at Carrigmore had 
 been to visit the little, ivy-covered post-office, in the 
 hope that the Orristown letters might possibly be in- 
 tercepted. But the postman had already left the 
 village, and she had no choice but to wait patiently 
 for Gore's first letter until her return in the evening. 
 But the postponement had not been sufficient to 
 damp her spirits, and she had started on her various 
 expeditions with a very light heart. Last of all 
 had come the visit to Mrs. Asshlin, who now rarely 
 left her room, but lay all day in the semilight made 
 by drawn blinds, drinking numerous cups of strong 
 tea, and keeping up a fitful murmur of complaint. 
 
 With senses that rebelled against the depressing 
 atmosphere, Clodagh had entered the bedroom and 
 had sat for nearly an hour beside her aunt's couch, 
 listening with all the patience she could muster to 
 the oft-repeated tale of discontent and ill-health. 
 Then at last, feeling that duty could demand no more, 
 she had risen and kissed Mrs. Asshlin's worn cheek. 
 
 467
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "We must have you over in London, Aunt Fan," 
 she said, cheerfully. "We must take you to a really 
 good doctor and have you made quite well." 
 
 But Mrs. Asshlin had shaken her head dubiously. 
 
 "I never had faith in really good doctors since 
 Molyneaux came down to see your poor father." 
 
 To this there seemed no possible response; so Clo- 
 dagh had kissed her aunt once more, and, with a 
 promise that she would return the next day, had 
 slipped silently out of the gloomy room followed by 
 Larry. Outside, in the vivid daylight, the cousins 
 had looked at each other involuntarily. 
 
 "Sometimes life seems awful, Clo," Asshlin had 
 said, in a despondent voice. And with a momentary 
 shock Clodagh had caught a gleam of the restlessness, 
 the brooding gloom, that used long ago to settle on 
 the face of her father. 
 
 "Why don't you leave Carrigmore, Larry?" she 
 had said, quickl3^ " It's a wonderful place to rest in, 
 but it's not the place for the whole of a man's life." 
 
 Asshlin had made a descriptive gesture, indicating 
 the house behind him; then, with a sudden impulse 
 of confidence, he had thrust his hand into his pocket, 
 and had drawn out six five-pound notes. 
 
 "When this represents the whole exchequer for the 
 next three months, there isn't much question of for- 
 eign travel— or fortune-seeking," he had said. " Come 
 along! The gale is freshening!" 
 
 And Clodagh had obeyed, depressed for the mo- 
 ment by contact with that hidden poverty of the 
 proud and well-born that is one of the most pathetic 
 factors in the scheme of Irish social life. She had 
 longed ardently to make some suggestion, some offer 
 of help, to this bright, spirited boy, who was wasting 
 the best years God had given him in coping with an 
 
 468
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 estate that could never be made to pay, and attend- 
 ing upon an invalid who hovered perpetually on the 
 borderland of shadows; but a native comprehension 
 of the position held her dumb. An offer of help 
 made on the moment of his confidence would set an 
 irrevocable barrier between them in the very dawn- 
 ing of their renewed friendship. 
 
 So she had talked to him of the crops, of the fishing, 
 of the Orristown live-stock, while the boat carried 
 them back across the bay. And the sail homeward 
 under the scudding clouds, while the little boat 
 danced and dipped to the buffeting of the waves, had 
 erased the passing gloom ; and now, as they climbed 
 the steep pathway and passed across the fields to the 
 house, Clodagh's heart was beating high in her own 
 egotistical joy at the mere fact of life. 
 
 She laughed out of sheer pleasure, as they passed 
 round the house and four or five dogs rushed forth 
 from the hall to greet them, and, stooping impulsively, 
 she drew Mick close to her and kissed his rough head. 
 
 "Larry, do you remember how you won him from 
 me long ago and how nobly you gave him back? I 
 have never forgotten it." She smiled affectionately 
 at her tall young cousin, and, freeing Mick, led the 
 way into the house. 
 
 On the shabby hall table, where the silver sconces 
 stood as of old, lay a small heap of letters, and, with 
 an exclamation of pleasure, Clodagh ran forward and 
 picked them up, passing them hastily in review. 
 
 There was a thick, important-looking one from 
 Nance. And — yes! the first letter from Gore — the 
 letter she had been waiting for. 
 
 For an instant her face fell. It felt thin and dis- 
 appointing, as she held the envelope between her 
 fingers. But almost at once it cleared. After 
 
 469
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 all, men had not as much time as women for the 
 writing of letters. And this had been written on the 
 day of her departure. She looked at the postmark — 
 "London — 10.30." Of course he had only had time 
 to scribble a line. How good and thoughtful of him 
 even to have sent that line! She turned and looked 
 at Larry, her face radiant once more. 
 
 "Larry," she said, "will you tell Burke that we'll 
 dine in half an hour, if Hannah has everything ready ? 
 And tell them to have candles in all the sconces. 
 It is to be a dinner-party, you know." She gave a 
 pleasant little laugh and turned towards the stairs, 
 closing her fingers over her letters in a deHghtful, 
 secret sense of anticipation and possession. 
 
 Her own room was filled with a cold, gray light as 
 she entered it — a peculiar light drawn from the wind- 
 swept sky and the pale, agitated waters — and she 
 noticed, as she crossed the threshold, that the wind 
 roared draughtily down the wide chimney, in a way 
 that suggested autumn and autumnal gales. But 
 the circumstance made little impression; she carried 
 her own world in her heart — and here, in the letter 
 Gore had written. 
 
 In a second impulse of love, she laid the others 
 aside, and opened Gore's envelope. Drawing out 
 the letter, she held it for a moment against her face. 
 On this paper his hand had rested when he wrote to 
 her. There was a sense of personal contact in the 
 mere thought. Then, at last, with a smile at her 
 own sentiment, she opened it slowly and smoothed 
 out the pages. 
 
 The written lines — scarcely more than a dozen 
 in number — danced for an instant before her eyes, 
 then focussed themselves with terrible distinctness. 
 
 There was no formal beginning to the letter; it 
 
 470
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 was merely a statement made in sharp, uneven char- 
 acters, as though the sender had written under great 
 stress — great emotion or resolve. It began: 
 
 " I find that you have treated me with an unpardonable 
 want of honor and want of truth on a matter that concerned 
 me very deeply — the matter of Deerehurst; and it seems to 
 me, under the circumstances, only just and right that our 
 engagement should come to an end. A marriage built upon 
 such a basis could only have one termination. If this seems 
 hard or abrupt, I can only say that the knowledge of my 
 mistake has come hardly to me. I shall go abroad again as 
 soon as I can make my plans. 1 am glad to think that, as 
 no one but your sister knew of our engagement, my action 
 can cause no public comment or unpleasantness for you. 
 
 "Walter Gore." 
 
 Clodagh read the lines — read and reread them. 
 For the first time in her life her quick brain failed 
 to respond to a first suggestion; then, at last, as 
 though the cloud that obscured her mind had been 
 rent asunder, conception of all that the letter con- 
 veyed sprang to her understanding. 
 
 Walter had written this letter, Walter had given 
 her up. Her face became very white; she swayed a 
 little, looking about her vaguely, as if for some 
 physical aid; then suddenly revolt took the place of 
 panic. It was all some horrible mistake. She must 
 go to him — rend the web of doubt that had divided 
 them — if need be, humble herself, show him the great- 
 ness of her love, until he must condone — must for- 
 give — must reinstate her in his heart. 
 
 Moving swiftly, she crossed the room to the fire- 
 place, drawing out her watch as she went. With a 
 good horse she might still catch the last train from 
 Muskeere — take the night-mail from Cork to Dublin 
 — cross to Holyhead in the morning, and be back in 
 London to-morrow. 
 
 471
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 She lifted her hand to the frayed and tasselled 
 bell-rope that hung from the ceiling ; then, by a strange 
 impulse, her arm dropped to her side. 
 
 When her journey was accomplished — when she 
 met Gore — what had she to explain ? What had she 
 to confess? The tassel of the bell-rope slipped from 
 between her fingers. 
 
 The vision of herself pleading with him rose vividly 
 before her. She, with her passionate impulsiveness; 
 he, with his grave dignity, his uncompromising in- 
 tegrity. She recalled the peculiar words he had 
 made use of on the day he had discovered Deerehurst's 
 gift of flowers. "I should either believe in you — -or 
 disbelieve in you." His critical attitude in their 
 first acquaintance started to life at the remembrance 
 of the words. He who expected of others what he 
 himself performed. He who, as Nance had said, 
 was "so honorable himself." How would he re- 
 ceive the poor, lame story she had to offer ? A horri- 
 ble, confusing dread closed in about her. A week 
 ago she would have gone forth confidently to make 
 her confession ; but now her faith was less. On the 
 night in Deerehurst's study she had tasted of the tree 
 of knowledge — had seen things as men see them; 
 and her fearlessness had been shaken. 
 
 She looked helplessly round the bare room filled 
 with cold, gray light. 
 
 No. Walter would never believe! Walter would 
 never believe! The knowledge that she had lied to 
 him even once would stand l)etween them, condemn- 
 ing her hopelessly. An appalling weight seemed to 
 press her to the earth. She was cut adrift. She 
 was separated forever from all safe, sheltering human 
 things; somewhere in the dim, far regions where the 
 decrees of fate are made — a knell had been sounded. 
 
 472
 
 THI: GAMBLIiR 
 
 She glanced once more round the bare, familiar 
 room, from the great four-post bedstead to the long 
 window beyond which lay the green fields, the wind- 
 swept sky, and the livid line of the sea; then suddenly 
 she turned, and fled through the open door and out 
 into the empty corridor. 
 
 Asshlin was still standing in the hall as she came 
 down-stairs. At the sound of her approach he looked 
 uj), but in the falling twilight he noticed nothing 
 unusual in her appearance. 
 
 "We've made a great illumination," he said. 
 "Quite a blaze of light!" 
 
 Clodagh made no answer, but, descending the stairs 
 quickly, passed into the dining-room. 
 
 As on the night years ago, when Milbanke had 
 come to Orristown, the old room was prepared to do 
 honor to a guest. The table-cloth was laid, places 
 were set for two, and the great silver sconces were 
 filled with candles that glowed so brightly that even 
 the dark portraits on the walls were thrown into 
 relief. But no fire blazed in the wide grate as on 
 the former occasion, and the curtains of the three 
 long windows were drawn back, admitting the light 
 from the stormy evening sky. 
 
 Clodagh 's first glance, as she entered the room, was 
 for these windows, and her first words concerned them. 
 
 "Larry, draw the curtains," she said. 
 
 To her own ears, her voice seemed to come from 
 some distant place — to sound infinitely thin and far 
 away; but Asshlin seemed to observe nothing. He 
 went forward obediently and drew the six long cur- 
 tains. 
 
 As the last was pulled into place, Burke entered, 
 and carefully laid two dishes upon the table. A 
 moment later Clodagh took her seat. 
 
 473
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "What will you eat, Larry?" she said, hurriedly. 
 "Chicken? Ham?" 
 
 Asshlin turned to her as he in his turn took his 
 place. 
 
 " What will you have ?" he said. 
 
 "I? Oh— anything! But talk, Larry! Tell me 
 things! Let's — let's be gay!" 
 
 Asshlin was busy cutting up the chicken. He did 
 not hear the faintly hysterical note that underran her 
 voice — the note of warning from a mind trying with 
 panic-stricken haste to evade itself. 
 
 He helped her to some chicken, and Burke, laying 
 the plate before her, went in search of wine. 
 
 She toyed for a moment or two with the food, mak- 
 ing pretence to eat. 
 
 At last Larry looked at her. 
 
 "You're eating nothing. Aren't you hungry?" 
 
 She started nervously. 
 
 "No; I'm not hungry. I — I had a glass of milk 
 in my room. I couldn't wait for dinner." She tried 
 to laugh as she told the falsehood. 
 
 He accepted the explanation. 
 
 "Then you must have a glass of wine now," he 
 said, genially, as Burke re-entered with a dusty bottle 
 of port. "Give me the bottle, Burke." 
 
 He took it from the old man's hands, and poured 
 some wine into Clodagh's glass, and as he leaned 
 forward he suddenly saw by the light of the candles 
 that her eyes were wide and black, her face very 
 white. 
 
 "Clo, you're not feeling ill?" he asked, in quick 
 concern. 
 
 Clodagh put her hand to her face with a startled 
 gesture. 
 
 "No! Do I look ill? It's the storm. The storm 
 
 474
 
 THH GAMBLliR 
 
 has got on my nerves. We develop nerves in Lon- 
 don, you know." Again she attempted to laugh. 
 
 Once more Asshlin accepted her explanation as 
 something he had no authority to question. 
 
 "I want you to talk, Larry," she added, hurriedly. 
 "I want you to talk. Say anything! Take me out 
 of myself!" 
 
 She raised her glass to her lij^s and drank some of 
 the wine. It brought a faint tinge of color to her 
 cheeks, but only increased the bright darkness of 
 her eyes. 
 
 While Asshlin consumed his dinner, she sat very 
 upright in her chair, sipping her wine from time to 
 time or breaking small mouthfuls from her bread. 
 
 At last, having hovered anxiously about her, 
 Burke made bold to speak his thoughts. 
 
 "Is it the way the chicken isn't nice, ma'am?" he 
 ventured. 
 
 She started, as she had started each time she had 
 been directly addressed. 
 
 "No, Burke. Oh no!" she said, hastily. "The 
 chicken is very nice. It's only that the stomi has — 
 has given me a headache." 
 
 Burke shook his head sympathetically as a sud- 
 den gale swept round the house. 
 
 " 'Tis lookin' for a bad night, sure enough," he 
 said, as he passed round the table with the next 
 course. 
 
 When the pudding had been served and partaken 
 of by Asshlin, Clodagh at last pushed back her chair, 
 and, with a curiously unstrung movement, walked 
 across the room to the firej)lace. 
 
 "Larry," she said, suddenly, "will you play cards 
 with me when Burke takes the things away?" 
 
 Asshlin looked up with interest. 
 
 475
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "By Jove!" lie said. "What a good idea!" 
 
 When Burke reappeared, solemnly carrying some 
 cheese, Clodagh turned to him quickly. 
 
 "Is there a pack of cards in the house, Tim?" she 
 asked. 
 
 He glanced at her white face and upright figure, 
 but his expression betrayed nothing. 
 
 "I do be thinkin' there's a deck some place, if I 
 could lay me mind on it." 
 
 Asshlin leaned across the table. 
 
 "There's a pack in the drawer of the sideboard." 
 
 Burke crossed the room, but not over -eagerly, 
 and, opening the drawer, produced the cards. 
 
 " 'Tis the deck poor Misther Dinis got from Cork 
 the self-same day — " he began. Then he stopped 
 considerately, and added, under his breath, "The 
 Almighty God be good to us all." 
 
 Clodagh took the cards from him, and stood very 
 still, fingering them nervously. At any other time 
 the thought of playing with cards that belonged to 
 the dead would have filled her with repugnance, but 
 to-night all ordinary standards had been lost — all 
 the world was chaos. She was like one who is slipping 
 down into a bottomless abyss, and stretches desperate 
 hands towards any straw that might offer respite. 
 
 She never changed her position while the table was 
 being cleared, her only sign of emotion still being 
 shown by the spasmodic way in which she passed the 
 cards between her fingers. When, at last, the cloth 
 had been removed and the candles replaced, she 
 came quickly across the room and stood looking 
 down upon her cousin. 
 
 She still mechanically sluiflflcd the cards; but her 
 glance, as it rested on Asshlin, was unconscious and 
 absorbed, seeing only its own mental pictures. 
 
 476
 
 THE GAMBLHR 
 
 "What shall we play, Larry? What game can 
 two people play ?" 
 
 Asshlin looked up. 
 
 "Piquet," he said, "or euchre." 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 "Euchre! Yes, euchre!" She drew a chair up 
 to the table and sat down. "What stakes?" 
 
 Asshhn looked uncertain. 
 
 "You say," he suggested, a little diffidently. 
 
 She gave a nervous start, as a fresh gale shook the 
 windows. 
 
 "Thirty shillings a game? Twenty shillings a 
 game?" 
 
 For an instant he looked at her amazed, but, seeing 
 the unconsciousness of her expression, his breeding 
 forbade him to offer any objection. With a reckless 
 excitement he had never before had opportunity to 
 feel, he leaned back in his chair, and taking up the 
 glass Burke had set beside him, poured out some 
 port and drank it. 
 
 "Thirty shillings a game!" he said, magnificently. 
 
 Clodagh did not seem to hear; certainly she saw 
 nothing of his scruple and his yielding. Her own 
 thoughts rode and spurred her, pressing her forward 
 in a wild, panic-stricken search for oblivion. 
 
 "Come, Larry. Play! Play! I feel — " she paused 
 and laughed, hysterically. "I feel that, if I were a 
 man to-night, I should drink all the port in that bottle. 
 I want to forget everything. Play! Play!" 
 
 Asshlin picked up the cards that she had laid 
 upon the table. He could not understand her in this 
 new mood ; but he was satisfied not to understand her. 
 He felt stimulated — lifted above himself — as he had 
 never been before. 
 
 For two hours they played, with luck evenly bal- 
 
 477
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 anced ; then Asshlin made a reluctant attempt to 
 draw out his watch. 
 
 "Did you hear that?" he said, as the wind roared 
 up from the sea hke an invading army. " I ought to 
 be getting home. She'll be worrying about me." 
 
 He spoke firmly enough, but his eyes wandered 
 back to the cards. 
 
 Clodagh rose, and, crossing to the sideboard, poured 
 some water into a glass and drank it. 
 
 "No! No!" she said, eagerly. "It's quite early. 
 It's only eleven. She won't expect you yet." 
 
 He put his watch back into his pocket; Clodagh 
 returned to her place at the table, and the play went 
 on. 
 
 By twelve o'clock a change had come in their 
 positions. Fortune was no longer impartial, and 
 Clodagh stood the winner by several games. Again 
 Asshlin made a movement towards departure. His 
 face was flushed now, and a look of alarm had begun 
 to mingle with his excitement. 
 
 " I — I ought to be going now, Clo," he said, a little 
 huskily. 
 
 Clodagh gave a sharp laugh. At last it seemed to 
 her that she was drowning thought — holding at bay 
 the black sense of loss and agony that threatened to 
 inundate her soul. She threw up her head, and her 
 eyes challenged her cousin's. 
 
 " You are a coward if you go now, Larry. You are 
 afraid to take your revenge." 
 
 He colored like a girl, and gave a half-angry, half- 
 embarrassed laugh. 
 
 "Don't say that, Clo." 
 
 "Then will you play?" 
 
 •'I— I oughtn't to." 
 
 Again Clodagh laughed — a laugh so nervous and 
 
 478
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 high-pitched that it rang ahnost harshly across the 
 room. 
 
 "Then you're not an AsshUn." 
 
 "Am I not?" He tilted his chair forward and 
 leaned upon the table. "Let's see. Come along. 
 I'm game for anything after that." 
 
 There was a new note in his voice — a fier}'' note that 
 seemed to challenge fate and throw reason to the 
 winds. 
 
 It stirred some latent power in Clodagh's brain. 
 A faint color crossed the pallor of her face; she half 
 rose from her seat. 
 
 "Shall we play 'Hke the devil,' as father used to 
 say r 
 
 Asshlin threw up his head. It was as if flint and 
 steel had struck — the spark followed inevitably. 
 
 "Yes," he cried; "we'll play like the devil!" 
 
 At one o'clock they rose from the table. Clodagh's 
 face was white again, but Asshlin's was deeply flushed ; 
 and as he stood up, confronting his cousin, it almost 
 seemed that he had drunk more than the two glasses 
 of port to which the bottle testified. 
 
 "I must go now, Clo," he said. "May I ring for 
 Burke to get me a lantern ?" 
 
 Clodagh took a step forward. 
 
 "Stay the night, Larry. You can have father's 
 room." 
 
 He shook his head and crossed to the fireplace. 
 
 " I owe you forty pounds," he said, in an unsteady 
 voice. "I'll leave thirty here" — he drew out the 
 notes he had shown her at Carrigmore, and laid them 
 under the clock on the mantel-piece — "the other ten 
 I'll — I'll give you to-morrow." 
 
 But Clodagh scarcely heard. 
 
 479
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Do stay! Oh, do stay!" 
 
 Again he shook his head, and pulled the bell-rope. 
 
 " I've put the notes here — under the clock." 
 
 "All right! All right! But, Larry, can't you 
 stay? It's a horrible night." 
 
 "I can't!" Then, as the door opened and Burke 
 appeared, he turned to him hastily. "Burke, bring 
 me a lantern. I want to get the boat out." 
 
 At last Clodagh's mind was torn from its own con- 
 cerns. 
 
 "The boat ? You're not going to cross the bay on 
 a night like this?" 
 
 Old Burke .came forward, looking from one to the 
 other. 
 
 "Wisha, Masther Larry, is it crazy you are?" 
 
 Asshlin turned his flushed face on the old servant. 
 
 "We're all a bit crazy now and then, Tim. But 
 I was never afraid of the sea. Get me the lantern." 
 
 Still Burke hesitated. But suddenly Asshlin 
 stepped forward with a look so full of pride and dom- 
 ination that by instinct he succumbed. 
 
 "As quick as you can, Burke." 
 
 And the old man hobbled off. 
 
 There was silence between the cousins after he had 
 gone. Asshlin leaned upon the mantel-piece, with 
 his face averted; Clodagh walked nervously about 
 the room, changing the arrangement of the silver 
 on the sideboard, snuffing the candles that had begun 
 to gutter, doing any aimless and unnecessary thing 
 that could blur her sense of impending solitude. At 
 last she paused in the middle of the room. 
 "Larry — " she began, desperately. 
 But at the same instant Burke's step sounded in 
 the hall, and his voice came to them through the 
 open door. 
 
 480
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "The lanthern is here, Masther Larry." 
 
 Asshlin started. 
 
 "All right. I'm coming," he called. "Good-night. 
 Clo!" He walked forward almost awkwardly and 
 took her cold hand. 
 
 She looked up into his face, her own misery blotting 
 out all other things. 
 
 "Larry, can't you stay?" 
 
 Asshlin passed his hand across his forehead, 
 
 "Don't ask me, Clo. Good-night." 
 
 An instant later he was gone. 
 
 She ran out into the hall on the moment that she 
 realized her desertion. 
 
 "Larry!" she called. "Larry!" 
 
 But her voice was drowned in the gale as Burke 
 opened the hall-door and the wind rushed in, filling the 
 wide, black hall. There was a confused suggestion of 
 storm and lantern-light; a vague silhouetted vision 
 of Burke, bent and small, and of Asshlm, straight, 
 hthe, and tall. Then the door closed with a thud. 
 Lantern, figures, and storm were alike shut out from 
 her knowledge. She was alone in the great house. 
 31
 
 XLVII 
 
 Almost at the same hour that Clodagh sat down 
 l\ to play cards with Laurence AsshHn at Orristown/ 
 Nance was seated with Daisy Estcoit in the lounge 
 of the Carlton. After her sister's departure, Mrs. 
 Estcoit had borne her off to be her guest at the hotel ; 
 and now the little party of four having dined in the 
 restaurant, she had gone to her room to discuss a 
 business letter with her son, leaving the two girls 
 ensconced under one of the big palm-trees. 
 
 It was very pleasant and interesting to sit there 
 and watch the groups seated on the low couches 
 beside the little coffee-tables, or to study the throng 
 of people that moved constantly through the large 
 glass doors of the vestibule, and up the flight of shal- 
 low steps to the restaurant itself, with its shaded 
 lights and pretty artificial garden. The crowd was 
 unusually large for the time of year; the band was 
 playing a waltz; the whole atmosphere seemed gay 
 and happy to one who only that morning had per- 
 formed a great act of love. 
 
 "How lovely Hfe is, Daisy!" Nance said, suddenly, 
 unconsciously echoing Clodagh's words on the day 
 of Gore's return to London. 
 
 Daisy Estcoit laughed. 
 • "Of course it is — with a trousseau like yours. But 
 look over there, by the big palm!" 
 
 Nance had bent to rearrange some roses in her belt. 
 
 482
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Where? What?" she said, glancing up. 
 
 "Don't you see?" 
 
 "No. What?" 
 
 " Sir Walter Gore. He just rushed through £ind into 
 the restaurant. He seems in tremendous haste." 
 
 "Walter! Where?" Nance looked round eagerly. 
 
 "I've just told you. In the restaurant. But 
 here he is back again! He must have been looking 
 for some one." 
 
 Nance rose from the quiet corner in which they 
 were sitting, and stepped forward to greet Gore; but 
 as he came towards her, down the flight of shallow 
 steps, her smile of welcome died, and a look of sur- 
 prise and concern crossed her eyes. 
 
 "Walter!" she said, softly. 
 
 He looked round at the sound of his name. 
 
 "Oh, Nance!" he said. His manner was as quiet 
 as usual, but he looked like a man who has undergone 
 some great fatigue and has not yet found time to 
 rest. 
 
 They shook hands in silence, Nance's dark-blue 
 eyes scanning his face. 
 
 "Have you heard from Clo ?" she said, at last. 
 "I have. Such a dear letter — written in the train." 
 
 He flushed. 
 
 "Yes," he said, laconically, "I have heard. But 
 I can't wait to talk about the letter now. I only 
 came here hoping to find a man I know; they told 
 me at his rooms that he was dining here, but 'twas 
 evidently a mistake. I must say good-night." 
 
 He held out his hand, and Nance took it mechan- 
 ically ; but as their fingers fell apart she stepped for- 
 ward and walked with him resolutely across the lounge. 
 
 In the vestibule she paused and compelled him 
 to meet her eyes. 
 
 483
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "Walter," she said, "something is wrong." 
 
 Gore's face hardened. 
 
 "Nothing is wrong." 
 
 She tightened her fingers round the fan she was 
 carrying. 
 
 "That is untrue, Walter." 
 
 Something in the entire candor of the words touched 
 him. He looked at her with new eyes. 
 
 "You are right," he said, quietly. "It was un- 
 true." 
 
 ' ' Then something has happened ? Something about 
 Clo?" 
 
 "Yes. Something — something that will break our 
 engagement." 
 
 Nance turned very pale. 
 
 "Walter!" she said, faintly, after a moment's 
 pause. Then, before he could speak again, she 
 looked up at him. "Wait for a minute!" she said, 
 sharply. "Wait for a minute!" And, turning, she 
 hurried back to where Daisy Estcoit was still sitting, 
 
 "Daisy," she said, "tell Pierce that I have gone 
 out with Walter, and that I'll be back in half an hour. 
 Tell him that it's something most — most important." 
 She spoke hastily, and, without waiting to see the 
 effect of her words, turned again and threaded her 
 way between the groups of people back to where 
 Gore was standing. 
 
 "Call a cab, Walter," she said. "We must talk." 
 
 "But, Nance—" 
 
 "A hansom, please." 
 
 She turned without embarrassment to one of the 
 attendants. 
 
 "But, Nance—" 
 
 "You cannot refuse me, Walter. Clo is every- 
 thing in the world to me." 
 
 484
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 Tlu- jingle of harness sounded as the hansom drew 
 up ; and, walking deliberately forward, she got into the 
 vehicle. 
 
 "Tell him to drive anywhere that will take half 
 an hour," she said to Gore, as he reluctantly followed. 
 
 "Out Holland Park way," he said, pausing on the 
 step. " I'll tell you when to stop." 
 
 He took his seat and closed the doors of the cab, 
 
 " Won't you be cold without a wrap ?" 
 
 Nance ignored the question. 
 
 "Now!" she said. "What is it? Is it about 
 Deerehurst ?" 
 
 At the sudden onslaught Gore started, and, turn- 
 ing round, looked at her. 
 
 "I don't intend to discuss this matter," he said, in 
 his coldest voice. 
 
 "But I mean to discuss it." She met his glance 
 with a resolution that was not to be denied. "Is it 
 about Deerehurst?" 
 
 "If you wish to know, it is about Deerehurst." 
 
 In his voice there was all the reserve, all the cold- 
 ness of the Englishman who has been very sorely 
 wounded. 
 
 "And what about him?" 
 
 Quite suddenly Gore's reserve flamed to anger. 
 
 "Do you think I am going to talk of such things 
 with a child like you?" 
 
 Nance clasped her hands on the closed doors of the 
 cab, formulating a sudden prayer that help might be 
 vouchsafed her; then she spoke, with eyes fixed 
 steadily in front of her. 
 
 "I am not a child, Walter," she said, in a very 
 low voice. "And you must speak to mc — for Clo's 
 sake. And if you won't, then I must tell you that 
 1 know all about her staving away from the theatre 
 
 485
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 the other night — about her having no headache, but 
 wanting to see Deerehurst — about her going to 
 Carlton House Terrace at nine o'clock — I know it 
 all, because she told me." 
 
 Gore drew a quick, amazed breath. 
 
 " She told you ?" 
 
 She nodded. Her throat felt very dry. 
 
 "Clodagh told you that?" 
 
 "Yes. Who told youf" 
 
 He made no answer. 
 
 "Walter, was it Lady Frances Hope?" 
 
 "What does that matter?" 
 
 "It was Lady Frances." 
 
 He put his hand wearily over his eyes. 
 
 " If you wish to know, it was." 
 
 "I guessed so. I always hated her. The other 
 day, as we drove from Paddington after seeing Clo- 
 dagh ofif, we passed her in the park with Valentine 
 Serracauld. He must have seen or guessed, or heard 
 from Deerehurst — and told her. He is an enemy of 
 Clo's, too, since the time at Tuffnell. " Oh, Walter!" 
 She turned suddenly and looked at him. "Walter, 
 have you ever really known Clodagh ?" 
 
 The pain and question in her voice broke through 
 his wounded self-esteem. 
 
 "Clodagh has made a fool of me, Nance," he said, 
 harshly. "She has never been straight with me — 
 never from the very first." 
 
 "And do you know why?" 
 
 "No; I can't pretend that 1 know why." 
 
 His tone was very bitter. 
 
 "Because she cares too much. She idealizes too 
 much." 
 
 Gore made a sound that nnght have been meant 
 for a laugh. # 
 
 486
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "T think it is I who have ideaHzed." 
 
 Nance straightened her small figure. 
 
 "Then you have always treated her wrongly. 
 What Clo needs is not to be idealized, but to be 
 taken care of. Not to be praised or blamed, but to 
 be taken care of." Her brown fingers were tightly 
 clasped as they rested on the cab doors. "All her 
 life she has wanted to be taken care of — and all her 
 life she has been thrown back upon herself. When I 
 was little I had her, but when she was little she had 
 no one. Our mother died when I was born." 
 
 Something in the simple pathos of this statement 
 stirred Gore's ever-present sense of the sacredness of 
 home ties. 
 
 "I never knew that," he said, very quietly. 
 
 "Yes, our mother died when I was born, and Clo 
 grew up in our father's care. Did she ever tell you 
 about our father?" 
 
 "No. At least— " 
 
 "Then I shall. I've told Pierce. People ought to 
 know. It helps them to understand. 
 
 "Our father was a spendthrift — a gambler — a 
 man without any principles. If somebody stronger 
 than himself had taken him in hand when he was 
 young, things might have been different. But he be- 
 gan by ruling everybody who came in contact with 
 him, until at last nobody dared to rule him. 
 
 "Can you imagine how a man like that would 
 bring up a daughter — you who had a mother to help 
 you in every year of your life?" 
 
 Her blue eyes darkened with intensity. 
 
 "Our home in Ireland is a big, lonely house on the 
 sea-coast. Imagine growing up in a house like that, 
 without care or money or friends — for father drove 
 all his friends away. Imagine CIo's life! Her only 
 
 487
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 learning was what she got with our cousin from the 
 school-master of the nearest village; her only amuse- 
 ments were sailing and riding and fishing. She never 
 had the love or friendship of a woman of her own class ; 
 she never knew what it was to be without the dread 
 of debt or disgrace; and then, at eighteen, she mar- 
 ried the first man who came into her life — not be- 
 cause she liked him — not because she wanted to 
 marry, or knew what marrying was — but because 
 he had saved our father's honor by paying his debt." 
 
 She paused to take breath ; but before Gore could 
 speak, she went on again. 
 
 "Do you know what I always wonder, Walter, 
 when I think of Clodagh ?" 
 
 Gore made a low murmur. 
 
 "I wonder, considering everything, that she hasn't 
 done really wrong things, instead of just terribly 
 foolish ones. It doesn't seem strange to me that she 
 should have behaved like a child, when she first felt 
 what it was to be free and flattered and admired. 
 Listen, Walter! There have been too many clouds 
 between you and Clodagh. Neither of you has un- 
 derstood. You have been too proud, and she has been 
 too much afraid. But I am not afraid." 
 
 And in the prosaic London cab, with her eyes fixed 
 resolutely on the heavy copper - colored sky that 
 hung above the house-tops, Nance performed her 
 second act of love. While Gore sat silent, she poured 
 forth the whole mistaken tale of Clodagh's life, 
 from the days in Venice to the hour of her departure 
 for Ireland. She omitted nothing; she extenuated 
 nothing. With a strange instinct towards choice 
 of the right weapons, she fought for her sister's 
 future. Everything was told — Lady Frances Hope's 
 
 488
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 poisoning of Clodagh's mind against Gore himself — 
 the scene with SerracauUl in the card-room — all the 
 temptations, all the follies, confessed in the darkness 
 of the nights at TufTnell, and in Clodagh's own bed- 
 room on the night she visited Deerehurst. It was 
 the moment for speech, and slie spoke. Her own 
 shyness, her own natural reticence were swept aside 
 by the great need of one who was infinitely dear. 
 The scene at Carlton House Terrace she described 
 without flinching; for candor and innocence move 
 boldly where lesser virtues fail and falter. She told 
 the story with a simple truth that was more dig- 
 nified than any hesitancy. 
 
 When at last she had finished, Gore sat for a space, 
 very silent and with bent head; then abruptly, as if 
 inspired by a sudden resolution, he put up his hand 
 to the trap in the roof. 
 
 "The nearest telegraph-office!" he called, as the 
 cabman looked down. 
 
 The man whipped up his horse; but Nance turned 
 sharply. 
 
 "What are you going to do?" 
 
 "To wire to Clodagh." 
 
 "To Clodagh?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " But Clodagh doesn't know! Walter, you haven't 
 told Clodagh? Walter!" 
 
 Gore bent his head. " I wrote to her the night I 
 saw Frances Hope," he said. "She had my letter 
 this morning." 
 
 "This morning!" It was impossible to fathom 
 the pain and alarm in Nance's voice. "What did 
 you write?" 
 
 "Very little. Just that I knew about Deerehurst 
 — that I thought it 1)etter we should not marry." 
 
 489
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 "And she got that letter this morning? She has 
 been hours and hours and hours alone, believing that 
 you don't love her — that she is left utterly by her- 
 self? Oh!" 
 
 "Nance, don't. I'm sufficiently ashamed." 
 
 Nance put her hands over her eyes. 
 
 "I'm not thinking of you!" she said, cruelly. 
 
 "I know. But remember, there's the wire. We 
 can still wire. I shall tell her that you and I are 
 coming for her to Ireland — that she will never be 
 alone again." 
 
 Nance's hand dropped. 
 
 "But you don't understand!" she cried. "No 
 telegram can reach her to-night. It will only get to 
 Carrigmore to-morrow morning — and from there to 
 Orristown. If we were to give everything we have 
 in the world — if we were to die for it — we could not 
 save her from the blackness, the loneliness, and hor- 
 ror of to-night!"
 
 XLVIII 
 
 EARLY on the morning that followed the storm, 
 Clodagh stepped from the hall - door of Orris- 
 town. As she stood on the gravelled pathway in 
 the clear, strong daylight, she looked like one who 
 has fought some terrible battle in the watches of the 
 night, and who has been worsted in the encounter. 
 She was pale and fragile, with a frightened query 
 in her eyes, as though she had propounded some 
 enormous question, to which fate had as yet made 
 no answer. For a time she stood in a helpless atti- 
 tude, looking towards the green hill, crowned with 
 sparsely foliaged trees, that fronted the house; then, 
 seeming to take some vague resolution, she walked 
 slowly forward towards the avenue, pausing where 
 the gravelled pathway joined the fields. 
 
 There was a curious look upon the land and sea 
 that morning, as though both were lying exhausted 
 by the tumult of the night. All around beneath the 
 avenue trees lay twigs and short, splintered branches 
 to which the limp leaves, whipped to untimely death 
 by the vehemence of the storm, still hung. Across 
 the bay, as far as Carrigmore, the sea lay like a sleep- 
 ing tiger that has prowled and harried through the 
 dark hours of night, and now lies at rest. A wonder- 
 ful pearly blue was upon the waters — long, rippling 
 lines spread from headland to headland, like faintly 
 pencilled shadows ; but massed in a dark fringe along 
 
 491
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 the curve of yellow strand was a ridge of packed sea- 
 weed that held within its meshes a thousand evi- 
 dences of the strife that had been, in twists of straw, 
 pieces of broken cork, and long, black chunks of drift- 
 wood. 
 
 She stood for an indefinite space, looking at this 
 significant dark line standing out against the smooth- 
 ness of the sand, until, half-unconsciously, her at- 
 tention was attracted by a sound that made itself 
 audible from the direction of the gate, growing in 
 volume as it advanced — the swish, swish of bare 
 feet on soft ground. She turned from the vision of 
 the sleeping sea, to behold a small peasant child in 
 torn dress and dirty apron speeding up the drive. 
 
 The child neared her; then swerved away as if in 
 fear, and continued her flight towards the house. 
 
 A sudden impulse seized Clodagh. 
 
 "Come here," she called. "Where are you go- 
 ing?" 
 
 For an instant the child looked too frightened to 
 speak; then her lips parted. 
 
 " Misther Asshlin — bey ant at Carrigmore!" she 
 said, inarticulately; and, turning, she fled onward to 
 the house. 
 
 Clodagh stood still for a moment, then she also 
 turned and recrossed the gravelled pathway. 
 
 She walked forward, scarcely feeling the ground 
 beneath her feet. Her heart beat fast; a cold pre- 
 monition ran through her, chilling her blood. Some- 
 thing was about to happen. The inertia that lay 
 upon her mind was to be shattered. Something was 
 about to happen. 
 
 As she reached the hall -door she saw the child 
 vanish into the stable-yard by the small, latched door 
 in the great wooden gate , and saw Mick, escaped from 
 
 492
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 confinement, come careering towards her. IBut for 
 once she took no heed of tlie dog's manifestations; 
 scarcely even noticing that he followed her, she passed 
 into the hall, and from thence to the dining-room. 
 There she stood for a long time listening — listening 
 intently. At last the sound she instinctively waited 
 for reached her — the sound of a low, wailing cry. 
 With a frightened gesture she put her hands over her 
 face; then let them drop to the back of a chair that 
 stood beside the centre-table. 
 
 She stood holding weakly to this chair, her limbs 
 trembling, her face white, while the wailing sound 
 drew nearer, growing more spasmodic as it approach- 
 ed. At last the door was thrust wide open and 
 Hannah burst into the room, her face blanched, tears 
 streaming from her eyes, her whole air demoralized. 
 
 "Miss Clodagh, Masther Larry!" she muttered, in- 
 articulately — "Masther Larry!" 
 
 Clodagh held to the back of the chair. 
 
 "What is it.?" 
 
 "Gone! Drownded!" 
 
 Clodagh swayed a little. 
 
 "Drowned!" she echoed, in a faint voice. 
 
 "He niver went home at all last night. And to- 
 day mornin' they found the little boat capsized 
 bey ant at the head. Oh, God help the poor mother! 
 What '11 the poor woman do at all ?" 
 
 " Drowned!" Clodagh said again. "Drowned! Larry 
 drowned!" 
 
 Hannah stepped forward, as though she expected 
 her to fall; but she motioned her away. 
 
 "How did it happen?" she asked, in a vague, thin 
 voice. 
 
 " 'Twas the storm! Sure, 'twas the storm!" 
 
 "But Larry was the best sailor in Carrigmore!" 
 
 493
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 She said the words involuntarily, but as they left 
 her lips they brought into being a new thought. 
 She stood upright, and by a strange, slow process of 
 suggestion, her eyes travelled to the mantel-piece 
 where the bundle of notes still protruded from under 
 the clock. 
 
 What if Larry had quailed before the thought of 
 confessing his losses to the querulous mother, who 
 could so ill spare the money he had squandered? 
 What if Larry had not fought the storm last night 
 as it might have been fought? She suddenly con- 
 templated last night's play from Larry's point of 
 view — contemplated Larry's losses by light of the 
 hard monetary straits that Ireland breeds. 
 
 Her blood seemed to turn to water; she felt like 
 one beyond the pale of human emotion or superhuman 
 help. 
 
 "Leave me to myself, Hannah," she said, faintly. 
 "I want to be alone." 
 
 "Lave you? But, my darlin' — " 
 
 "I must be alone." 
 
 Hannah looked at her in agonized concern. 
 
 "Miss Clodagh — " she began. But something in 
 Clodagh's stony quiet daunted her; she gave a muffled 
 sob, and moved slowly across the room. 
 
 Clodagh was conscious of the wailing sounds of 
 grief for several minutes after she had disappeared; 
 then gradually they faded as she descended into the 
 lower regions, to share the appalling and yet grimly 
 fascinating news with Burke and the farm-laborers. 
 
 When full consciousness that she was alone came 
 to Clodagh, she let her hands drop from the back of 
 the chair; and, moving stiffly, crossed the room to 
 the fireplace. 
 
 She made no attempt to touch the notes that lay 
 
 494
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 as Asshlin had placed them; but she looked at them 
 for long with a species of horror. And at last, as 
 though the thought of them had begotten other 
 thoughts, she raised her eyes to the picture hanging 
 above them — the picture of Anthony Asshlin in his 
 lace ruffles and black satin coat, with his powdered 
 hair, his gallant bearing, and dark, eager face. 
 
 The eyes of the picture seemed to look into her 
 own eyes with an almost human smile of satire. 
 Innumerable years had passed since that reckless 
 presence had filled the old room; dice and duelling 
 were gone out of fashion ; but human nature was 
 unchanged — there were still Asshlins of Orristown. 
 
 "Oh, God — " she said, aloud; then she stopped. 
 "There is no God!" she added, wildly. "There is no 
 God!" 
 
 At the sudden sound of her voice, Mick rose from 
 the corner where he had been crouching. The sight 
 of the dog calmed her; she passed her hand once or 
 twice across her eyes, then walked quite steadily 
 across the room. 
 
 He followed her closely ; but at the door she stopped 
 and looked at him. 
 
 "No, Mick! You cannot come." 
 
 By some extraordinary sagacity the animal whim- 
 pered and pressed closer to her skirt. 
 
 With a fierce impulse she stooped, kissed him once, 
 then, holding him back, slipped through the door 
 and closed it. 
 
 He gave a frantic bark of misery, but she did not 
 pause, she did not even look back. Walking rap- 
 idly, she passed across the hall and out into the 
 open. 
 
 Turning to the right, she skirted the stable-vard 
 and the orchard, and, hurrying past the spot where 
 
 495
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 years ago Milbanke had asked her to be his wife, took 
 the path to the Orristown chffs. 
 
 Her thoughts trooped up Hke Hving things as she 
 stumbled forward along the uneven track. She was 
 conscious of no fear, only of a desolating loneliness — 
 an enormous sense of futility, of finality. Last night 
 she had looked into the eyes of fate, propounding the 
 question of how she was to carry on her life, and to- 
 day she had read the answer in the face of the por- 
 trait. 
 
 She hurried on unseeingly, covering the same 
 track that her father had covered on the night when 
 he had ridden out and met death on the dark head- 
 land. 
 
 From time to time she stopped and looked at the 
 sea — looked at the long curve of shining beach with 
 its margin of dark wreckage — looked at the clustering 
 cottages of Carrigmore, and marvelled in a dumb 
 way at the tragedy that could underlie so calm a 
 scene. 
 
 She had none of the nervous panic that had assailed 
 her the night before. She was conscious of nothing 
 but a black despair- — a despair such as Denis Asshlin 
 had been wont to drown in drink and cards. She 
 had lived her Hfe; she had had her chance; and the 
 end was failure. She had tangled the threads of 
 her existence; and the one hand that could have un- 
 ravelled the tangle was closed against her. 
 
 One thought alone she rigorously refused to har- 
 bor — the thought of Nance. Nance would have her 
 husband — Nance would have her home, she assured 
 herself. Nance would forget. In vain the remem- 
 brance of her faithful loyalty rose to make the as- 
 surance doubtful. As she had closed the door upon 
 Mick, she closed her heart to the knowledge. 
 
 496
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 There were certain hours in every Hfe, she told 
 herself, when the soul judged the body. Judged and 
 forgave, or judged and condemned. Her shaken 
 mind drove her feet faster along the rugged track — 
 faster — faster, as though Nemesis pursued her. 
 Terrible visions rose from the sea, creeping over the 
 cliff's edge — visions of Larry, stiff and dead, as she 
 had seen her father; as she had seen Milbanke — 
 visions of the cottage at Carrigmore; of her aunt's 
 dark room, filled with the sound of lamentation. 
 
 Before she was aware of it she passed round a 
 curve of the path and came full upon the scene of 
 her father's accident. She paused, gave a faint gasp, 
 and involuntarily put her hand to her throat. Her 
 destination was nearer than she had thought. 
 
 In a vague, startled way her eyes scanned the place, 
 roving from the chasm in the cliff to the sweep of 
 short grass, with its tufting of hardy flowers that 
 throve in the strong, salt air. It was also still — 
 so extraordinarily still. Fifty yards away a goat 
 browsed on the cliff, and the quiet, cropping sound 
 of its eating came to her distinctly; overhead in the 
 pale-blue sky a hawk was poised, seemingly motion- 
 less; down below her, three hundred feet away, the 
 sea made a curious sucking noise, as it filled and re- 
 ceded from some invisible fissure in the rocks. 
 
 Still with her hand to her throat she tiptoed for- 
 ward to the edge of the chasm. Then suddenly she 
 drew back, trembling and giddy. Beneath her, at 
 what looked an incredible distance, the clear green 
 waters formed a narrow estuary, shadowed by the 
 towering rocks. They were like a grave, those 
 waters — so secret, so full of mystery. Again she 
 forced herself to look, compelling her unwilling eyes 
 to travel up and down the great sweep of red sand- 
 al 497
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 stone, from the grass at the edge of the abyss to the 
 dark water, from the water back again to the grass. 
 
 She would not be a coward in this last moment. 
 She had never been a physical coward. 
 
 She stepped back; she took one dazed look at the 
 world that, until yesterday, had been so very fair; 
 she drew one long, shuddering breath, closed her 
 eyes, and went forward. 
 
 But at her first step, something or some one came 
 rushing down the cliff behind her. She gave a terri- 
 fied cry, opened her eyes, and recoiled from the chasm. 
 A moment later she had turned, trembHng, crying, 
 utterly unnerved, to find Mick leaping round her. 
 
 "Mick!" she said, tremulously. "Mick!" Then 
 a voice called to her, and, looking up, she saw Hannah, 
 her hair dishevelled, her eyes still streaming, the yel- 
 low envelope of a telegram held in the corner of her 
 apron. 
 
 "The fright you gave me. Miss Clodagh!" she be- 
 gan. "Sure, I'd niver find you at all only for the 
 dog." 
 
 Then she stopped, looking sharply at her mistress. 
 
 "Miss Clodagh, what is it all? Come home; come 
 home, my lamb!" Her voice, husky from tears, 
 dropped suddenly. 
 
 But Clodagh still stood white and shaking; she had 
 been too near the verge to be easily recalled. 
 
 "Sure, God's ways are quare, but 'tisn't for us to 
 be judgin'; maybe he's saved worse. Miss Clodagh! 
 Keep thinkin' that. Maybe he's saved worse." 
 
 Clodagh covered her eyes. 
 
 "But here's somethin' for you. God help us, I 
 was forgettin'! "Will you be seein' what is in it?" 
 She came slowly forward, extending her arm. 
 
 Clodagh took the telegram. Without thought or 
 
 498
 
 THE GAMBLER 
 
 interest she tore it open, and her eyes passed mechan- 
 ically over the written words. Then suddenly it 
 slipped from between her fingers, blew a little way 
 across the close grass, and fluttered down over the 
 edge of the cliff. 
 
 As it disappeared she turned. Her face was en- 
 tirely without color; her eyes had the dazed look of 
 one who is confronted with a great light. 
 
 "Hannah!" she cried. "Hannah! There is a 
 God, after all! There is a God!" She swayed sud- 
 denly, and the old servant, rushing forward, caught 
 her in her arms. 
 
 THE END
 
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