The party was gay, especially after the adjournment to the Richelieu, where special dishes of chicken, lobster, and a bucket of champagne were served. Later at the Alcott Club, as the gambling resort was known, Aileen, according to Lynde, was to be taught to play baccarat, poker, and any other game that she wished. “You follow my advice, Mrs. Cowperwood,” he observed, cheerfully, at dinner—being host, he had put her between himself and McKibben—“and I’ll show you how to get your money back anyhow. That’s more than some others can do,” he added, spiritedly, recalling by a look a recent occasion when he and McKibben, being out with friends, the latter had advised liberally and had seen his advice go wrong. “Have you been gambling, Kent?” asked Aileen, archly, turning to her long-time social mentor and friend. “No, I can honestly say I haven’t,” replied McKibben, with a bland smile. “I may have thought I was gambling, but I admit I don’t know how. Now Polk, here, wins all the time, don’t you, Polk? Just follow him.” A wry smile spread over Lynde’s face at this, for it was on record in certain circles that he had lost as much as ten and even fifteen thousand in an evening. He also had a record of winning twenty-five thousand once at baccarat at an all-night and all-day sitting, and then losing it. Lynde all through the evening had been casting hard, meaning glances into Aileen’s eyes. She could not avoid this, and she did not feel that she wanted to. He was so charming. He was talking to her half the time at the theater, without apparently addressing or even seeing her. Aileen knew well enough what was in his mind. At times, quite as in those days when she had first met Cowperwood, she felt an unwilled titillation in her blood. Her eyes brightened. It was just possible that she could come to love a man like this, although it would be hard. It would serve Cowperwood right for neglecting her. Yet even now the shadow of Cowperwood was over her, but also the desire for love and a full sex life. In the gambling-rooms was gathered an interested and fairly smart throng—actors, actresses, clubmen, one or two very emancipated women of the high local social world, and a number of more or less gentlemanly young gamblers. Both Lord and McKibben began suggesting column numbers for first plays to their proteges, while Lynde leaned caressingly over Aileen’s powdered shoulders. “Let me put this on quatre premier for you,” he suggested, throwing down a twenty-dollar gold piece. “Oh, but let it be my money,” complained Aileen. “I want to play with my money. I won’t feel that it’s mine if I don’t.”