It was in essence alien--something that life
had added to him.
_"Faites vos jeux, messieurs; messieurs, faites vos jeux."_
The croupier's droning voice recalled her sharply from her thoughts.
"Which is it to be this time, Tony?" she asked, smiling.
"Seven and _impair_," he replied tersely. And in due course the seven
turned up.
Their run of luck was continuing without a break, and plenty of amused and
interested glances were cast at the young couple of successful players.
They were taking it all so easily, with a careless, light-hearted enjoyment
that was rather refreshing to turn to after a glimpse of some of the
furtive, vulture-like faces gathered round the tables. Meanwhile, the
grey-eyed Englishman continued to lose with the same persistency as his
young compatriots were winning. Apparently he was playing on a system, for,
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.
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