“Have you been gambling, Kent?” asked Aileen, archly, turning to her long-time social mentor and friend.
“No, I can honestly say I haven’t,” replied McKibben, with a bland smile.
“I may have thought I was gambling, but I admit I don’t know how.
Now Polk, here, wins all the time, don’t you, Polk?
Just follow him.”
A wry smile spread over Lynde’s face at this, for it was on record in certain circles that he had lost as much as ten and even fifteen thousand in an evening.
He also had a record of winning twenty-five thousand once at baccarat at an all-night and all-day sitting, and then losing it.
Lynde all through the evening had been casting hard, meaning glances into Aileen’s eyes.
She could not avoid this, and she did not feel that she wanted to.
He was so charming.
He was talking to her half the time at the theater, without apparently addressing or even seeing her.
Aileen knew well enough what was in his mind.
At times, quite as in those days when she had first met Cowperwood, she felt an unwilled titillation in her blood.
Her eyes brightened.
It was just possible that she could come to love a man like this, although it would be hard.
It would serve Cowperwood right for neglecting her.
Yet even now the shadow of Cowperwood was over her, but also the desire for love and a full sex life.
In the gambling-rooms was gathered an interested and fairly smart throng—actors, actresses, clubmen, one or two very emancipated women of the high local social world, and a number of more or less gentlemanly young gamblers.
Both Lord and McKibben began suggesting column numbers for first plays to their proteges, while Lynde leaned caressingly over Aileen’s powdered shoulders. “Let me put this on quatre premier for you,” he suggested, throwing down a twenty-dollar gold piece.
“Oh, but let it be my money,” complained Aileen.
“I want to play with my money.
I won’t feel that it’s mine if I don’t.”
“Very well, but you can’t just now.
You can’t play with bills.”
She was extracting a crisp roll from her purse.
“I’ll have to exchange them later for you for gold.
You can pay me then. He’s going to call now, anyhow. There you are. He’s done it. Wait a moment.
You may win.”
And he paused to study the little ball as it circled round and round above the receiving pockets.
“Let me see.
How much do I get if I win quatre premier?”
She was trying to recall her experiences abroad.
“Ten for one,” replied Lynde; “but you didn’t get it.
Let’s try it once more for luck.
It comes up every so often—once in ten or twelve.
I’ve made it often on a first play.
How long has it been since the last quatre premier?” he asked of a neighbor whom he recognized.
“Seven, I think, Polk. Six or seven.
How’s tricks?”
“Oh, so so.”
He turned again to Aileen.
“It ought to come up now soon.
I always make it a rule to double my plays each time.
It gets you back all you’ve lost, some time or other.”
He put down two twenties.
“Goodness,” she exclaimed, “that will be two hundred!
I had forgotten that.”
Just then the call came for all placements to cease, and Aileen directed her attention to the ball.
It circled and circled in its dizzy way and then suddenly dropped.
“Lost again,” commented Lynde.