he
pleasant, kindly animal to which she had likened the Casino was now a
mighty monster, who must be approached with caution and even fear, whose
gentle, feline purring was the purr of a tiger sitting with claws in
sheath. How the great golden beast could strike and tear sometimes, the
desperate face of her companion told. Mary feared for his sake that
people might read the lines of misery, and whisper that here was one of
Monte Carlo's wrecks.

She had often noticed in the gilded Salle Schmidt those four long
mirrors in the corners, which could only be known as doors when some
inspector or other functionary pressed his foot on a trigger level with
the floor in front of one of them. When this was done, a mirror would
instantly move so promptly that Mary had named those doors the "open
sesames."

Now, when she had walked with Dauntrey to the farthest door on the
right-hand side of the room, he stopped. Near by stood two blue-coated,
gold-braided Casino footmen, as if keeping guard; and suddenly Mary
remembered that these or other footmen were always hovering at that
spot. Often, too, she had seen shamed and sad-looking men and women
sitting dejectedly on the leather cushioned seat by the side of the
door. She had never thought about them particularly, but in this moment
of enlightenment she guessed why they haunted this corner, like starved
birds waiting in the hope of crumbs. She was thankful to see that the
seat was deserted. It would have been terrible to be one of those who
had to wait while everybody who knew the secret of the door passed by
and saw, and stared curiously or pityingly. She began to understand how
it was that Eve's shattered nerves had forbidden her to come and "stand
by" Lord Dauntrey.

Leaving the girl a pace or two behind, he squared his shoulders and went
up to the footmen. Mary could not hear what he said, but the Casino
servant's answer was distinctly audible. It was politely spoken, yet
there was, or seemed to be, in the man's manner a slight indifference,
and even disdain, which would not have been there in addressing a
successful, not a broken, gambler.

"Monsieur is engaged at present, but will be free in a few moments," she
heard.

Dauntrey came quickly back to her, as to a refuge. The eyes of both
footmen rested upon her for an instant. They were almost, but not quite,
expressionless. Under control yet visible was surprise and animal
curiosity. The men knew Miss Grant by sight and r