Then once more magic fortune came back. It seemed as if only good
cards--variations on the fateful eights and nines--could be dealt her.
Suddenly she pushed her chair back and got up. Protesting murmurs rose on
every side.
"If Madame leaves, the luck will go with her!" she heard one or two
people murmur discontentedly.
Chester was looking at her with amused, sarcastic, disapproving eyes.
"Well!" he exclaimed. "I don't wonder you enjoy gambling, Sylvia! Are you
often taken this way? How much of that poor fellow's money have you won?"
"Ninety pounds," she answered mechanically.
"Ninety pounds! And have you ever lost as much as that, may I ask, in an
evening?" he was still speaking with a good deal of sarcasm in his voice.
But still, "money talks," and even against his will Chester was
impressed. Ninety pounds represents a very heavy bill of costs in a
country solicitor's practice.
Sylvia looked dully into his face.
"No," she said slowly. "No, the most I ever lost in one evening was ten
pounds. I always left off playing when I had lost ten pounds.
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