had come yet, and already there was several hundred dollars more in real
money that she had handed over to Madison from the offering box.

Money! They'd have more money than they'd know what to do with before
they got through--there was nothing the matter with the game--all there
was to do was to play it to a finish. And there wasn't the slightest
risk about it--everything was given voluntarily. Oh, the game was all
right--but somehow she wasn't happy--not nearly so happy as she had
been in New York, even in lean periods when she and the Doc had been
pressed for money. But, anyway, then they had been together, and fought,
and laughed, and loved, and quarrelled through flush times and bad.

Maybe that was it! The Doc! Of course, she loved him--she had loved him
ever since she had known him. There was no secret about that--she loved
him fiercely, passionately, more than she loved anything else in the
world, with all the love she was capable of--more than he loved her--he
seemed to accept her, too often, so casually, so indifferently, so much
as a matter of course. He was so confidently and complacently sure of
her--and she was not at all sure of him. She was only sure that he was
quite right in being sure--she couldn't help loving him if she tried.

She had hardly seen anything of him since that night in the Roost before
he had left for Needley--and he hadn't seemed to care much whether she
did or not. That talk about playing the game and taking no chances was
all bosh--there had been plenty of chances where it wouldn't have hurt
the game any. Perhaps the little jolt she had given him last night,
turning the tables a little, would wake him up a bit. Perhaps, as the
Flopper had said, he would come out to-night, and--

"Helena! Helena!"