attened over a row of pure white teeth with
glistening specks of gold that opened when he smiled; closing again slowly
like an automaton's. His shrunken, colorless hands lay on the black cloth
like huge white spiders; their long, thin legs of fingers turned up at the
tips--stealthy, creeping fingers. Sometimes, too, in their nervous
workings, they drooped together like a bunch of skeleton keys. On one of
these lock picks he wore a ring studded alternately with diamonds and
rubies.

The cards seemed to know these fingers, fluttering about them, or
lighting noiselessly at their bidding on the cloth.

When the bank won, the croupier permitted a slight shade of disappointment
to flash over his face, fading into an expression of apology for taking
the stakes. When the bank lost, the lips parted slowly, showing the teeth,
in a half smile. Such delicate outward consideration for the feelings of
his victims seemed a part of his education, an index to his natural
refinement.

The woman was of another type. Although she sat with her back to me, I
could catch her profile when she pushed her long veil from her face. She
was dressed entirely in black. She had been, and was still, a woman of
marked beauty, with an air of high breeding which was unmistakable. Her
features were clean-cut and refined, her mouth and nose delicately shaped.
Her forehead was shaded by waves of brown hair which half covered her
ears. The eyes were large and softened by long lashes, the lids red as if
with recent weeping. Her only ornament was a plain gold ring, worn on her
left hand. Outwardly, she was the only person in the room who betrayed by
her manner any vital interest in the game.

There are some faces that once seen haunt you forever afterward--faces
with masks so thinly worn that you look through into the heart below. Hers
was one of these. Every light and shadow of hope and disappointment that
crossed it showed only the clearer the intensity of her mental strain, and
the bitterness of her anxiety.

Once when she lost she bit her lips so deeply that a speck of blood tinged
her handkerchief. The next instant she was clutching her winnings with
almost the ferocity of a hungry animal. Then she leaned back a moment
later exhausted in her chair, her face thrown up, her eyes closing
wearily.

In her hand she held a small chamois bag filled with gold; when her chips
were exhausted she would rise silently, float like a shadow to the desk,
lay a hand