“What adorable hair and eyes you have! You glow like a great rose. You have a radiance that is wonderful.” “Oh, Mr. Lynde! How you talk! Does gambling always affect you this way?” “No, you do. Always, apparently!” And he stared hard into her upturned eyes. Still playing ostensibly for Aileen’s benefit, he now doubled the cash deposit on his system, laying down a thousand in gold. Aileen urged him to play for himself and let her watch. “I’ll just put a little money on these odd numbers here and there, and you play any system you want. How will that do?” “No, not at all,” he replied, feelingly. “You’re my luck. I play with you. You keep the gold for me. I’ll make you a fine present if I win. The losses are mine.” “Just as you like. I don’t know really enough about it to play. But I surely get the nice present if you win?” “You do, win or lose,” he murmured. “And now you put the money on the numbers I call. Twenty on seven. Eighty on thirteen. Eighty on thirty. Twenty on nine. Fifty on twenty-four.” He was following a system of his own, and in obedience Aileen’s white, plump arm reached here and there while the spectators paused, realizing that heavier playing was being done by this pair than by any one else. Lynde was plunging for effect. He lost a thousand and fifty dollars at one clip. “Oh, all that good money!” exclaimed Aileen, mock-pathetically, as the croupier raked it in. “Never mind, we’ll get it back,” exclaimed Lynde, throwing two one-thousand-dollar bills to the cashier. “Give me gold for those.” The man gave him a double handful, which he put down between Aileen’s white arms. “One hundred on two. One hundred on four. One hundred on six. One hundred on eight.” The pieces were five-dollar gold pieces, and Aileen quickly built up the little yellow stacks and shoved them in place. Again the other players stopped and began to watch the odd pair. Aileen’s red-gold head, and pink cheeks, and swimming eyes, her body swathed in silks and rich laces; and Lynde, erect, his shirt bosom snowy white, his face dark, almost coppery, his eyes and hair black—they were indeed a strikingly assorted pair. “What’s this? What’s this?” asked Grier, coming up. “Who’s plunging? You, Mrs. Cowperwood?” “Not plunging,” replied Lynde, indifferently. “We’re merely working out a formula—Mrs. Cowperwood and I. We’re doing it together.” Aileen smiled. She was in her element at last. She was beginning to shine. She was attracting attention. “One hundred on twelve. One hundred on eighteen. One hundred on twenty-six.” “Good heavens, what are you up to, Lynde?” exclaimed Lord, leaving Mrs. Rhees and coming over. She followed. Strangers also were gathering. The business of the place was at its topmost toss—it being two o’clock in the morning—and the rooms were full.