Fifty on twenty-four.”
He was following a system of his own, and in obedience Aileen’s white, plump arm reached here and there while the spectators paused, realizing that heavier playing was being done by this pair than by any one else.
Lynde was plunging for effect.
He lost a thousand and fifty dollars at one clip.
“Oh, all that good money!” exclaimed Aileen, mock-pathetically, as the croupier raked it in.
“Never mind, we’ll get it back,” exclaimed Lynde, throwing two one-thousand-dollar bills to the cashier.
“Give me gold for those.”
The man gave him a double handful, which he put down between Aileen’s white arms.
“One hundred on two. One hundred on four. One hundred on six. One hundred on eight.”
The pieces were five-dollar gold pieces, and Aileen quickly built up the little yellow stacks and shoved them in place.
Again the other players stopped and began to watch the odd pair.
Aileen’s red-gold head, and pink cheeks, and swimming eyes, her body swathed in silks and rich laces; and Lynde, erect, his shirt bosom snowy white, his face dark, almost coppery, his eyes and hair black—they were indeed a strikingly assorted pair.
“What’s this?
What’s this?” asked Grier, coming up.
“Who’s plunging?
You, Mrs. Cowperwood?”
“Not plunging,” replied Lynde, indifferently.
“We’re merely working out a formula—Mrs. Cowperwood and I.
We’re doing it together.”
Aileen smiled.
She was in her element at last.
She was beginning to shine. She was attracting attention.
“One hundred on twelve.
One hundred on eighteen.
One hundred on twenty-six.”
“Good heavens, what are you up to, Lynde?” exclaimed Lord, leaving Mrs. Rhees and coming over.
She followed.
Strangers also were gathering.
The business of the place was at its topmost toss—it being two o’clock in the morning—and the rooms were full.
“How interesting!” observed Miss Lanman, at the other end of the table, pausing in her playing and staring. McKibben, who was beside her, also paused.
“They’re plunging.
Do look at all the money!
Goodness, isn’t she daring-looking—and he?” Aileen’s shining arm was moving deftly, showily about.
“Look at the bills he’s breaking!”
Lynde was taking out a thick layer of fresh, yellow bills which he was exchanging for gold.
“They make a striking pair, don’t they?”
The board was now practically covered with Lynde’s gold in quaint little stacks.
He had followed a system called Mazarin, which should give him five for one, and possibly break the bank.
Quite a crowd swarmed about the table, their faces glowing in the artificial light.
The exclamation “plunging!” “plunging!” was to be heard whispered here and there.
Lynde was delightfully cool and straight.
His lithe body was quite erect, his eyes reflective, his teeth set over an unlighted cigarette.
Aileen was excited as a child, delighted to be once more the center of comment.
Lord looked at her with sympathetic eyes.
He liked her.
Well, let her be amused.
It was good for her now and then; but Lynde was a fool to make a show of himself and risk so much money.
“Table closed!” called the croupier, and instantly the little ball began to spin. All eyes followed it.
Round and round it went—Aileen as keen an observer as any.
Her face was flushed, her eyes bright.