held good with stakes of value, he seemed to enter upon
the possession of a veritable gold mine. The peculiar traits that his
one unique experience of the world had developed--his coolness, his
courage, his discernment of strategic resources--stood him in good
stead, and long after the microcosm of the hotel lay fast asleep the
cards were dealt and play ran high in the little building called the
casino, ostensibly devoted to the milder delights of billiards and
cigars.

Either luck favored him or he had rare discrimination of relative
chances in the run of the cards, or the phenomenally bold hand he played
disconcerted his adversaries, but his almost invariable winning began to
affect injuriously his character. Indeed, he was said to be a rook of
unrivalled rapacity. Colonel Duval was in the frame of mind that his
wife called "bearish" one morning as his family gathered for breakfast
in the limited privacy of their circle about the round table in the
dining-room.

"I want you to avoid that fellow, Alicia," he growled _sotto voce_, as
he intercepted a bright matutinal smile that the fair Alicia sent as a
morning greeting to Girard, who had just entered and taken his seat at a
distance. "We know nothing under heaven about his people, and he himself
has the repute of being a desperate gambler."

His wife raised significant eyebrows. "If that is true, why should he
stay in this quiet place?"

Colonel Duval experienced a momentary embarrassment. "Oh, the place is
right enough. He stays, no doubt, because he likes it. You might as well
ask why old Mr. Whitmel stays here."

"The idea of mentioning a clergyman in this connection!"

"Mr. Whitmel is professionally busy," cried Alicia. "He told me that he
is studying 'the disintegration of a soul.' I hope it is not _my_ soul."

The phrase probably interested Alicia in her idleness, for she was
certainly actuated by no view of a moral uplift in the character of
Girard, the handsome gambler. She did not recognize a subtle cruelty in
her system of universal fascination, but her vanity demanded constant
tribute, and she was peculiarly absorbed in the effort to bring to her
feet this man of iron, her knight in armor, as she was wont to call him,
to control him with her influence, to bend this unmalleable material
like the proverbial wax in her hands.

She had great faith in the coercive power of her hazel eyes, and she
brought their batteries to bear on Girard on the first oc