Early in their acquaintance the Count had warned her against making
casual friendships in the Gambling Rooms, and he even did not like her
knowing--this amused Sylvia--the harmless Wachners.
When he saw her talking to Madame Wachner in the Club, Count Paul would
look across the baccarat table and there would come a little frown over
his eyes--a frown she alone could see.
And as the days went on, and as their intimacy seemed to grow closer and
ever closer, there came across Sylvia a deep wordless wish--and she had
never longed for anything so much in her life--to rescue her friend from
what he admitted to be his terrible vice of gambling. In this she showed
rather a feminine lack of logic, for, while wishing to wean him from his
vice, she did not herself give up going to the Casino.
She would have been angry indeed had the truth been whispered to her, the
truth that it was not so much her little daily gamble--as Madame Wachner
called it--that made Sylvia so faithful an attendant at the Club; it was
because when there she was still with Paul de Virieu, she could see and
sympathise with him when he was winning, and grieve when he was losing,
as alas! he often lost.
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