hate all
this row about winning and losing. Let's go on, or go to bed.' The
idea of going to bed was absurd. So they went on. Sir Felix, however,
hardly spoke at all, played very little, and watched Miles Grendall
without seeming to watch him. At last he felt certain that he saw a
card go into the man's sleeve, and remembered at the moment that the
winner had owed his success to a continued run of aces. He was tempted
to rush at once upon the player, and catch the card on his person. But
he feared. Grendall was a big man; and where would he be if there
should be no card there? And then, in the scramble, there would
certainly be at any rate a doubt. And he knew that the men around him
would be most unwilling to believe such an accusation. Grasslough was
Grendall's friend, and Nidderdale and Dolly Longestaffe would
infinitely rather be cheated than suspect any one of their own set of
cheating them. He feared both the violence of the man he should
accuse, and also the unpassive good humour of the others. He let that
opportunity pass by, again watched, and again saw the card abstracted.
Thrice he saw it, till it was wonderful to him that others also should
not see it. As often as the deal came round, the man did it. Felix
watched more closely, and was certain that in each round the man had
an ace at least once. It seemed to him that nothing could be easier.
At last he pleaded a headache, got up, and went away, leaving the
others playing. He had lost nearly a thousand pounds, but it had been
all in paper. 'There's something the matter with that fellow,' said
Grasslough.

'There's always something the matter with him, I think,' said Miles.
'He is so awfully greedy about his money.' Miles had become somewhat
triumphant in his success.

'The less said about that, Grendall, the better,' said Nidderdale. 'We
have put up with a good deal, you know, and he has put up with as much
as anybody.' Miles was cowed at once, and went on dealing without
manoeuvring a card on that hand.

CHAPTER XXV - IN GROSVENOR SQUARE

Marie Melmotte was hardly satisfied with the note which she received
from Didon early on the Monday morning. With a volubility of French
eloquence, Didon declared that she would be turned out of the house if
either Monsieur or Madame were to know what she was doing. Marie told
her that Madame would certainly never dismiss her. 'Well, perhaps not
Madame,' said Didon, who knew too much about Madame to be dismiss