e estate, it was necessary for him to marry Louise Lambert, a girl for
whom he had never had a spark of affection. Louise was good-looking,
it was true, but could he sacrifice his happiness; could he ever cut
himself adrift from Dorise for mercenary motives--in order to get back
what was surely by right his inheritance?

Yet, after all, as he again met Dorise's calm, wide-open eyes, the grim
truth arose in his mind, as it ever did, that Lady Ranscomb, even though
she had been so kind to him, would never allow her only daughter to
marry a man who was not rich. Had not Dorise told him of the sly hints
her mother had recently given her regarding a certain very wealthy man
named George Sherrard, an eligible bachelor who lived in one of the most
expensive flats in Park Lane, and who was being generally sought after
by mothers with marriageable daughters. In many cases mothers--and
especially young, good-looking widows with daughters "on their
hands"--are too prone to try and get rid of them "because my daughter
makes me look so old," as they whisper to their intimates of their own
age.

After dinner all four strolled across to the Casino, presenting their
yellow cards of admission--the monthly cards granted to those who are
approved by the smug-looking, black-coated committee of inspection, who
judge by one's appearance whether one had money to lose.

Dorise soon detached herself from her mother and strolled up the Rooms
with Hugh, Lady Ranscomb and Brock following.

None of them intended to play, but they were strolling prior to going to
the opera which was beneath the same roof, and for which Lady Ranscomb
had tickets.

Suddenly Dorise exclaimed:

"Look over there--at that table in the corner. There's that remarkable
woman they call 'Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo'!"

Hugh started, and glancing in the direction she indicated saw
the handsome woman seated at the table staking her counters quite
unconcernedly and entirely absorbed in the game. She was wearing a dead
black dress cut slightly low in the neck, but half-bare shoulders, with
a string of magnificent Chinese jade beads of that pale apple green so
prized by connoisseurs.

Her eyes were fixed upon the revolving wheel, for upon the number
sixteen she had just thrown a couple of thousand franc counters. The
ball dropped with a sudden click, the croupier announced that number
five had won, and at once raked in the two thousand francs among others.

Mademoiselle