He reminded himself angrily that Sylvia had a good income—­so good an income that she very seldom spent it all in the course of any one year.  Why, therefore, should she wish to increase it?

Above all, how could she bear to mingle with this queer, horrid crowd?  Why should she allow herself to be contaminated by breathing the same air as some of the women who were there round her?  She and the stout, middle-aged person standing behind her were probably the only “respectable” women in the Club.

And then, it was all so deliberate!  Chester had once seen a man whom he greatly respected drunk, and the sight had ever remained with him.  But, after all, a man may get drunk by accident—­nay, it may almost be said that a man always gets drunk by accident.  But, in this matter of risking her money at the baccarat table, Sylvia Bailey knew very well what she was about.

With a thrill of genuine distress the lawyer asked himself whether she had not, in very truth, already become a confirmed gambler.  It was with an assured, familiar gesture that Sylvia placed her money on the green cloth, and then with what intelligent knowledge she followed the operations of the Banker!

He watched her when her fifty francs were swept away, and noted the calm manner with which she immediately took five louis from her pile, and pushed them, with her little rake, well on to the table.

But before the dealer of the cards had spoken the fateful words:  “Le jeu est fait.  Rien ne va plus!” Mrs. Bailey uttered an exclamation under her breath, and hurriedly rose from her chair.

She had suddenly seen Chester—­seen his eyes fixed on her with a perplexed, angry look in them, and the look had made her wince.

Forgetting that she still had a stake on the green cloth, she turned away from the table and began making her way round the edge of the circle.

For a moment Chester lost sight of her—­there were so many people round the table.  He went on staring, hardly knowing what he was doing, at the four pounds she had left on the green cloth.

The cards were quickly dealt, and the fateful, to Chester the incomprehensible, words were quickly uttered.  Chester saw that Sylvia, unknowing of the fact, had won—­that five louis were added to her original stake.  The fair-haired Frenchman in evening dress by whom Mrs. Bailey had been sitting looked round; not seeing her, he himself swept up the stake and slipped the ten louis into his pocket.

“Bill!  You here?  I had quite given you up!  I thought you had missed the train—­at any rate, I never thought you would come out to Lacville as late as this.”

The bright colour, which was one of Sylvia’s chief physical attributes, had faded from her cheeks.  She looked pale, and her heart was beating uncomfortably.  She would have given almost anything in the world for Bill Chester not to have come down to the Club and caught her like this—­“caught” was the expression poor Sylvia used to herself.