Mrs. Sellars hooted “’Tis I!” and “In the Gloaming,” and was beginning “Twickenham Ferry” when she broke down over the accompaniment, rose, and came to the fire. Miss Marter was sitting one side of it, stroking her torpid little terrier, and Mrs. Wingham (who was focussing _Sartor Resartus_ through her glasses) on the other.
“Thank you, dear,” said Miss Marter. “I hope you feel calmer.”
“I shall never be calmer,” Mrs. Sellars moaned, “till George is home again at my side.”
“Well, dear,” Miss Marter maliciously replied, looking down her long nose, “you know you insisted on his going.”
So I left the two ladies to squabble as to who was mainly responsible for George’s being in South Africa in such ticklish times, and went in search of Teddy.
He was neither in the _fumoir_ nor his bedroom, so down I went to the rooms.
There I found Bob Hines punting on the middle dozen and the last six at roulette, with a pile of five-franc pieces before him.
“Those your winnings?” I whispered; to which he gave the not over-polite reply, “How can you be such a fool?”
So I knew he was losing, and went off in search of Brentin.
I found him in an excited circle watching a common-looking Englishman at the _trente-et-quarante_ tables, who with great coolness was staking the maximum of twelve thousand francs, two at a time, one on _couleur_ and one on black. In front of him the notes were piled so high that, being a little man, he had to press them down with his elbows before he could use his rake. Sometimes he won one bundle of notes, neatly pinned together and representing the maximum; sometimes both, as _couleur_ and black turned out alike. Rarely he lost both. Others were staking, but mostly only paltry louis, or the broad, shining five-louis pieces one only sees at Monte Carlo. There was the usual church-like silence, broken only by the dry, sharp tones of the croupier’s harsh voice, “_Le jeu est fait!_” and then, sharper still, “_Rien ne va plus!_”
Once the tension was broken by a titter of laughter, as a withered little Italian with a frightened air threw a five-franc piece down on the board and the croupier pushed it back. The poor devil apparently didn’t know that gold only may be staked at _trente-et-quarante_.