“Not particularly.”

His eyes challenged hers.  “Perhaps you have never needed an anaesthetic?” he said coolly.

She looked slightly startled.  “What do you mean?”

He leaned deliberately forward across the table.  “You know what an anaesthetic does, don’t you?  It cheats the senses of pain.  And a little humbug does the same for the mind.  Of course you don’t believe anything.  I don’t myself.  But you can’t stand for ever and contemplate an abyss of utter ignorance.  You must weave a little romance about it for the sake of your self-respect.”

She looked straight into the challenging eyes.  The wistfulness was still in her own.  “Then you are offering to weave a little romance for me?” she said, with a faint involuntary sigh.

He made her a brief bow.  “If you will permit me to do so.”

“To relieve your boredom?” she suggested with a smile.

“And yours,” he smiled back, taking up the cards.

She did not contradict him.  She only lowered her eyes to the deft hands that were disposing the cards in mystic array upon the table.

There followed a few moments of silence; then in his careless, unmusical drawl the man spoke.

“Do you mind telling me your first name?  It is essential to the game, of course, or I shouldn’t presume to ask.”

“My name is Anne,” she said.

The noise below had lessened considerably, and this fact seemed to cause her some relief.  The tension had gone out of her bearing.  She sat with her chin upon her hand.

Not a beautiful woman by any means, she yet possessed that indescribable charm which attracts almost in spite of itself.  There was about her every movement a queenly grace that made her remarkable, and yet she was plainly not one to court attention.  Her face in repose had a look of unutterable weariness.

“How old are you please?” said the magician.

“Twenty-five.”

He glanced up at her.

“Yes, twenty-five,” she repeated.  “I am twenty-five to-day.”

He looked at her fixedly for a few seconds, then in silence returned to his cards.

She continued to watch him without much interest.  The dance-music was quickening to the finale.  The hubbub of voices had died away.  Evidently a good many people had ceased to dance.

Suddenly her companion spoke.  “Do you like diamonds?”

She smiled at the question.  “Yes, I like them.  I haven’t a passion for them.”

“No,” he said, without raising his eyes.  “You haven’t a passion for anything at present.  You will have soon.”

“I think it very unlikely,” she said.

“Of course you do.”  He was manoeuvring the cards rapidly with one hand.  “Your eyes have not been opened yet.  I see an exciting time before you.  You are going to have an illness first.  That comes in the near future.”

“I have never been ill in my life,” she said.