Play had again begun in earnest, and Sylvia turned her attention to the
table. Her neighbour whispered something which at once caused her to take
up two napoleons and a ten-franc piece from the pile of gold in front of
her. Very deliberately she placed the coins within the ruled-off space
reserved for the stakes.
Bill Chester, staring across at her, felt as if he were in a
nightmare--gazing at something which was not real, and which would
vanish if looked at long enough.
Could that lovely young woman, who sat there, looking so much at home,
with the little rake in her hand be Sylvia Bailey, the quiet young widow
whose perfect propriety of conduct had always earned the praise of those
matrons of Market Dalling, whom Chester's own giddier sisters called by
the irreverent name of "old cats"? It was fortunate that none of these
respectable ladies could see Sylvia now!
To those who regard gambling as justifiable, provided the gambler's
means allow of it, even to those who habitually see women indulging in
games of chance, there will, of course, be something absurd in the point
of view of the solicitor.
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