I don’t think any one was so much smitten as Crook.  We had seen more of the world than he had—­that is to say, more of the witness-box—­and if you don’t see the world there, on its oath, you can see it nowhere in the same unveiled deformity.

We enjoyed ourselves very much.  There was good music and a little sweet singing, the lady being in that art, as in every other, well trained and accomplished.  If I was not altogether ravished with the performance, Crook was.  You could see that by the tender look of his eyes.

After the music, cards were introduced, and they commenced playing vingt-et-un, Crook being the special favourite with everybody, especially with the ladies.  I believe much was due to the expression of his eyes.

As I had given up cards, I did not join in the game, but became more and more interested in it as an onlooker.  I was a little surprised, however, to find that in a very short while, comparatively, our friend Crook had lost L30 or L40; and as this was the greater part of his allowance for travelling expenses, it placed him in a rather awkward position.

Some men travel faster when they have no money; this was not the case with poor Crook, who travelled only by means of it.  Alas, I thought, twenty-one and vingt-et-un!  It was a serious matter, and the worse because Crook was not a good loser:  he lost his head and his temper as well as his money; and I have ever observed through life that the man who loses his temper loses himself and his friends.

He was disgusted with his bad luck, but nurtured a desperate hope—­the forlorn hope that deceives all gamblers—­that he should retrieve his losses on some future occasion, which he eagerly looked for and, one might say, demanded.

The occasion was not far off; it was, in fact, nearer than Crook anticipated.  His pleasant manner and agreeable society at vingt-et-un procured us another invitation for the following night but one, and of course we accepted it.  It was a great change to me from the scenery of the Elm Court chimney-pots.

Whatever might be Crook’s happily sanguine disposition and hope of retrieving his luck, there was one thing which the calculator of chances does not take into consideration in games of this kind.  We, visiting such cultured and fashionable people, would never for a moment think so meanly of our friends; I mean the possibility of their cheating, a word never mentioned in well-bred society.  A suspicion of such conduct, even, would be tantamount to treason, and a violation of the rules that regulate the conduct of ladies and gentlemen.  It was far from all our thoughts, and the devil alone could entertain so malevolent an idea.  Be that as it may, as a matter of philosophy, the onlooker sees most of the game, and as I was an onlooker this is what I saw:—­

The elegant lady exchanged glances with one of the players while she was looking over Crook’s hand!  Crook was losing as fast as he could, and no wonder.  I was now in an awkward position.  To have denounced our hosts because I interpreted a lady’s glances in a manner that made her worse than a common thief might have produced unknown trouble.  But I kept my eye on the beautiful blonde, nevertheless, and became more and more confirmed in my suspicions without any better opportunity of declaring them.