Rarely, if ever, had a more beautiful face been seen in that gilded den than Daisy’s, as she entered the room, leaning upon the arm of her husband, and walking slowly from table to table to see how it was done before making her first venture.  Not a man but turned to look at her, and when at last, with a trembling hand, she put down her five franc piece, not one but was glad when she took up two, and with a smile of triumph tried her luck again.  It is said that success always attends the new beginner at Monte Carlo, and it surely attended Daisy, who played on and on, seldom losing, until, grown bold by repeated success, she staked her all, one hundred and fifty francs, and doubled it at once.

“That will do.  Twelve pounds are enough for one day,” she said, and depositing her gains in her leather bag, she took Archie’s arm and left the room, followed by scores of admiring eyes, while many an eager question was asked as to who the lovely English girl could be.

In the ante-room outside there was a crowd of people moving in opposite directions, and the train of Daisy’s blue muslin, for those were not the days of short dresses, was stepped upon and held until the gathers at the waist gave way and there was a long, ugly rent in one of the bottom flounces.

“I beg your pardon, miss, for my awkwardness, but really I could not help myself, I was so pushed by the crowd,” was said in Daisy’s ear in a rich Irish brogue, and turning partly round she saw a fair-haired young man, scarcely two years older than herself, with a look of genuine distress upon his aristocratic but boyish face, as he continued:  “I hope I have not ruined the dress, and it is such a pretty one!”

“I am sure you could not help it, but I am awful sorry, for it is my very best gown; but then I can afford another now, for I gained twelve pounds to-day,” Daisy said, gathering up her torn skirt, and thus showing to good advantage her pretty feet, and the fluted ruffles on her white petticoat.

“Daisy!” Archie said, reproachfully, for he did not like her speaking thus freely to a stranger, “Let’s get out of this;” and he made his way to the open air, followed by the young man who still kept apologizing for his awkwardness, until Archie lost all patience, and said a little hotly, “I tell you, it is of no consequence.  My wife can afford another.”

“Your wife!” the young Irishman repented with a gasp.  “Is it possible?  I thought she was your sister.  She looks so young.  Your wife?”

“Yes, my wife! and I am Archibald McPherson, of Stoneleigh, Bangor, in Wales,” Archie answered, fiercely, and with a look which he meant should annihilate the enemy, who, not in the least abashed, because he really meant no harm, lifted his soft hat very respectfully, as he replied: