"King!" retorted Lambert, with the same perfect calm. "King of diamonds
... that card has been persistently faithful to me to-night."

"The devil himself hath been faithful to you, Master Lambert ..." said
Segrave tonelessly, "you have the hell's own luck.... What do I pay you
now?"

"It was double or quits, Master Segrave," rejoined Lambert, "which
brings it up to two hundred pounds.... You will do me the justice to own
that I did not seek this game."

In his heart he had already resolved not to make use of his own
winnings. Somehow as in a flash of intuition he perceived the whole
tragedy of dishonor and of ruin which seemed to be writ on his
opponent's face. He understood that what he had regarded as a
toy--welcome no doubt, but treacherous for all that--was a matter of
life or death--nay! more mayhap to that pallid youth, with the hectic
flush, the unnaturally bright eyes and trembling hands.

There was silence for a while round the green-topped table, whilst
thoughts, feelings, presentiments of very varied kinds congregated
there. With Endicott and his wife, and also with Sir Marmaduke, it was
acute tension, the awful nerve strain of anticipation. The seconds for
them seemed an eternity, the obsession of waiting was like lead on their
brains.

During that moment of acute suspense Richard Lambert was quietly
co-ordinating his thoughts.

With that one mental flash-light which had shown up to him the hitherto
unsuspected tragedy, the latent excitement in him had vanished. He saw
his own weakness in its true light, despised himself for having yielded,
and looked upon the heap of gold before him as so much ill-gotten
wealth, which it would be a delight to restore to the hand from whence
it came.

He heartily pitied the young man before him, and was forming vague
projects of how best to make him understand in private and without
humiliation that the money which he had lost would be returned to him in
full. Strangely enough he was still holding in his hand that king of
diamonds which Endicott had dealt to him.

CHAPTER XIX

DISGRACE

Segrave, too, had been silent, of course. In his mind there was neither
suspense nor calm. It was utter, dull and blank despair which assailed
him, the ruin of his fondest hopes, an awful abyss of disgrace, of
punishment, of death at best, which seemed to yawn before him from the
other side of the baize-covered table.

Instinct--that ever-present instinct of self-cont