rcely replied
to him. They mounted the stairs and entered the Club. She looked
anxiously up and down the crowded rooms.

"I shall stroll about and look for Henry," she announced.

"Very well," he agreed. "I will go over to your place and see how the
numbers are going."

He stood by the roulette table, but he watched her covertly. She passed
through the baccarat room, came out again and walked the whole length of
the larger apartment. She even looked into the restaurant beyond. Then
she came slowly back to where Draconmeyer was standing. She seemed
tired. She scarcely even glanced at the table.

"Lady Hunterleys," he exclaimed impressively, "this is positively
wicked! Your twenty-nine has turned up twice within the last few
minutes. Do sit down and try your luck and I will go and see if I can
find your husband."

He pushed a handful of plaques and a bundle of notes into her hand. At
that moment the croupier's voice was heard.

_"Quatorze rouge, pair et manque."_

"Another of my numbers!" she murmured, with a faint show of interest. "I
don't think I want to play, though."

"Try just a few coups," he begged. "You see, there is a chair here. You
may not have a chance again for hours."

He was using all his will power. Somehow or other, she found herself
seated in front of the table. The sight of the pile of plaques and the
roll of notes was inspiring. She leaned across and with trembling
fingers backed number fourteen _en plein_, with all the _carres_ and
_chevaux_. She was playing the game at which she had lost so
persistently. He walked slowly away. Every now and then from a distance
he watched her. She was winning and losing alternately, but she had
settled down now in earnest. He breathed a great sigh of relief and took
a seat upon a divan, whence he could see if she moved. Richard Lane, who
had been standing at the other side of the table, crossed the room and
came over to him.

"Say, do you know where Sir Henry is?" he enquired.

Draconmeyer shook his head.

"I have scarcely seen him all day."

"I think I'll go round to the hotel and look him up," Lane decided
carelessly. "I'm fed up with this--"

He stopped short. He was no longer an exceedingly bored and
discontented-looking young man. Draconmeyer glanced at him curiously. He
felt a thrill of sympathy. This stolid young man, then, was capable of
feeling something of the same emotion as was tearing at his own
heart-strings. Lane was gazing with tra