“Now, let me see,” said Hurstwood, looking over Carrie’s shoulder very deferentially. “What have you?” He studied for a moment. “That’s rather good,” he said. “You’re lucky. Now, I’ll show you how to trounce your husband. You take my advice.” “Here,” said Drouet, “if you two are going to scheme together, I won’t stand a ghost of a show. Hurstwood’s a regular sharp.” “No, it’s your wife. She brings me luck. Why shouldn’t she win?” Carrie looked gratefully at Hurstwood, and smiled at Drouet. The former took the air of a mere friend. He was simply there to enjoy himself. Anything that Carrie did was pleasing to him, nothing more. “There,” he said, holding back one of his own good cards, and giving Carrie a chance to take a trick. “I count that clever playing for a beginner.” The latter laughed gleefully as she saw the hand coming her way. It was as if she were invincible when Hurstwood helped her. He did not look at her often. When he did, it was with a mild light in his eye. Not a shade was there of anything save geniality and kindness. He took back the shifty, clever gleam, and replaced it with one of innocence. Carrie could not guess but that it was pleasure with him in the immediate thing. She felt that he considered she was doing a great deal. “It’s unfair to let such playing go without earning something,” he said after a time, slipping his finger into the little coin pocket of his coat. “Let’s play for dimes.” “All right,” said Drouet, fishing for bills. Hurstwood was quicker. His fingers were full of new ten-cent pieces. “Here we are,” he said, supplying each one with a little stack. “Oh, this is gambling,” smiled Carrie. “It’s bad.” “No,” said Drouet, “only fun. If you never play for more than that, you will go to Heaven.” “Don’t you moralise,” said Hurstwood to Carrie gently, “until you see what becomes of the money.” Drouet smiled. “If your husband gets them, he’ll tell you how bad it is.” Drouet laughed loud. There was such an ingratiating tone about Hurstwood’s voice, the insinuation was so perceptible that even Carrie got the humour of it. “When do you leave?” said Hurstwood to Drouet. “On Wednesday,” he replied. “It’s rather hard to have your husband running about like that, isn’t it?” said Hurstwood, addressing Carrie. “She’s going along with me this time,” said Drouet. “You must both go with me to the theatre before you go.” “Certainly,” said Drouet. “Eh, Carrie?” “I’d like it ever so much,” she replied. Hurstwood did his best to see that Carrie won the money. He rejoiced in her success, kept counting her winnings, and finally gathered and put them in her extended hand. They spread a little lunch, at which he served the wine, and afterwards he used fine tact in going. “Now,” he said, addressing first Carrie and then Drouet with his eyes, “you must be ready at 7.30. I’ll come and get you.” They went with him to the door and there was his cab waiting, its red lamps gleaming cheerfully in the shadow.