I suppose," he puzzled it out, "I do a good lot of
make-believe. While I'm playing a game like this game to-night, I
IMAGINE the stakes are huge. And I IMAGINE I haven't another penny in
the world."

"Ah, so that with you it's always a life-and-death affair?"

He looked away.

"Oh, no, I don't say that."

"Stupid phrase," I admitted. "But"--there was yet one point I would
put to him--"if you have extraordinary luck always--"

"There's no such thing as luck."

"No, strictly, I suppose, there isn't. But if in point of fact you
always do win, then--well, surely, perfect luck driveth out fear."

"Who ever said I always won?" he asked sharply.

I waved my hands and said, "Oh, you have the reputation, you know, for
extraordinary luck."

"That isn't the same thing as always winning. Besides, I HAVEN'T
extraordinary luck, never HAVE had. Good heavens!" he exclaimed, "if I
thought I had any more chance of winning than of losing, I'd--I'd--"

"Never again set foot in that baccarat-room to-night," I soothingly
suggested.

"Oh, baccarat be blowed! I wasn't thinking of baccarat. I was
thinking of--oh, lots of things; baccarat included, yes."

"What things?" I ventured to ask.

"What things?" He pushed back his chair. "Look here," he said with a
laugh, "don't pretend I haven't been boring your head off with all this
talk about myself. You've been too patient. I'm off. Shall I see you
to-morrow? Perhaps you'd lunch with us to-morrow? It would be a great
pleasure for my wife. We're at the Grand Hotel."

I said I should be most happy, and called the waiter; at sight of whom
my friend said he had talked himself thirsty, and asked for another
glass of water. He mentioned that he had brought his car over with
him: his little daughter (by the news of whose existence I felt
idiotically surprised) was very keen on motoring, and they were all
three starting the day after to-morrow on a little tour through France.
Afterward they were going on to Switzerland "for some climbing." Did I
care about motoring? If so, we might go for a spin after luncheon, to
Rouen or somewhere. He drank his glass of water, and, linking a
friendly arm in mine, passed out with me into the corridor. He asked
what I was writing now, and said that he looked to me to "do something
big one of these days," and that he was sure I had it in me. This
remark, though of course I pretended to be pleased by it, irritated me
very much. It wa