in spite of his want of success, he continued steadily backing certain
definite combinations. He showed neither impatience or annoyance when he
lost. His face remained perfectly impassive, and Ann had a feeling that he
would play precisely as steadily, remain as grimly unmoved, if the stakes
were a hundred times as high as those permitted at the Kursaal. She could
imagine him staking his whole fortune, losing it, and then walking out of
the rooms as coolly composed as he had entered them.

Once more the ball slithered into the number she had backed, and she opened
a small silken bag, that already bulged with her evening's gains, and added
the winnings of the last coup. At the same moment, some one pressing from
behind jolted her arm, and the bag fell with a little thud, its contents
spilling out on the floor. Tony, engrossed in the play, failed to notice
the mishap and went on staking, but the Englishman, apparently quite
unconcerned as to the chances he might be missing, stooped at once and
collected the bag and its scattered contents.

"I think I've rescued everything," he said, as he handed it to her. "But
you'd better count it over and make certain."

"Oh, no, I won't count it. It's sure to be all right. Thank you so much."
Ann spoke rather breathlessly. For some reason or other she felt
unaccountably nervous.

The man smiled.

"You've become such a Croesus to-night that I suppose an odd franc or two
doesn't matter?" he suggested.

"I _have_ been lucky, haven't I?" she acknowledged frankly. "It's been such