lways affect you this way?"

"No, you do. Always, apparently!" And he stared hard into her upturned
eyes. Still playing ostensibly for Aileen's benefit, he now doubled
the cash deposit on his system, laying down a thousand in gold. Aileen
urged him to play for himself and let her watch. "I'll just put a
little money on these odd numbers here and there, and you play any
system you want. How will that do?"

"No, not at all," he replied, feelingly. "You're my luck. I play with
you. You keep the gold for me. I'll make you a fine present if I win.
The losses are mine."

"Just as you like. I don't know really enough about it to play. But I
surely get the nice present if you win?"

"You do, win or lose," he murmured. "And now you put the money on the
numbers I call. Twenty on seven. Eighty on thirteen. Eighty on
thirty. Twenty on nine. Fifty on twenty-four." He was following a
system of his own, and in obedience Aileen's white, plump arm reached
here and there while the spectators paused, realizing that heavier
playing was being done by this pair than by any one else. Lynde was
plunging for effect. He lost a thousand and fifty dollars at one clip.

"Oh, all that good money!" exclaimed Aileen, mock-pathetically, as the
croupier raked it in.

"Never mind, we'll get it back," exclaimed Lynde, throwing two
one-thousand-dollar bills to the cashier. "Give me gold for those."

The man gave him a double handful, which he put down between Aileen's
white arms.

"One hundred on two. One hundred on four. One hundred on six. One
hundred on eight."

The pieces were five-dollar gold pieces, and Aileen quickly built up
the little yellow stacks and shoved them in place. Again the other
players stopped and began to watch the odd pair. Aileen's red-gold
head, and pink cheeks, and swimming eyes, her body swathed in silks and
rich laces; and Lynde, erect, his shirt bosom snowy white, his face
dark, almost coppery, his eyes and hair black--they were indeed a
strikingly assorted pair.

"What's this? What's this?" asked Grier, coming up. "Who's plunging?
You, Mrs. Cowperwood?"

"Not plunging," replied Lynde, indifferently. "We're merely working
out a formula--Mrs. Cowperwood and I. We're doing it together."

Aileen smiled. She was in her element at last. She was beginning to
shine. She was attracting attention.

"One hundred on twelve. One hundred on eighteen. One hundred on
twenty-six."

"Good heavens,