he was quite near to her before she spoke, and then she did so without looking up. in an off-hand tone, she said—
“i shouldn’t have expected you to play cards, after what you’ve said.”
“really! what have i said to imply that i should never, in any circumstances, play cards?”
she made an impatient gesture.
“oh, you are trifling,” she said. “i meant that, after all you’ve said about sunday, and about these people playing so well, it would be inconsistent on your part to play here to-day.”
“i may be obliged to. one doesn’t like to stand out when everybody else is playing,” said gerard. and, with an uneasy feeling that he was going to have some hint given him, he drew her out. “i happen to have some money with me. i can’t say i could afford very well to lose all of it, but after all, at poker, and these gambling games, it isn’t always the old hands that win.”
she spoke with vivacity.
“you would be very foolish to expect to win, pitted against men like these two idle van santens, who care more for cards than for anything else.”
[172]“do you mean that you advise me not to?”
“certainly i do. just as i should advise any man not to try his rawness against the skill of practiced players at cards or at anything else.”
“do they always play for such high stakes?” asked gerard abruptly.
“of course. they’re rich men, and there’s no excitement for them unless the stakes are high. and i may tell you that, rich as they are, they like winning as much as any poor man could do.”
gerard looked at her steadily.
“may i say what i think, miss davison?” he asked, after a short pause.
“not if it’s anything disagreeable,” she said quickly. “i’ve heard too many unpleasant speeches from you, mr. buckland, and for the future i command you to keep silence with me unless you have something to say which i shall be pleased to hear.”
she tried to speak flippantly, but there was an underlying seriousness, nay, distress, in her look and tone, which told him that she was no happier than she had been when he last met her.
“i’m going to say what i had in my mind, all the same,” he said, in a voice full of deep feeling. “it’s only this: i’m sorry to see you here, miss davison. it’s a change for the worse from lady jennings’ house, and i’m sure you must feel it so. why did you quarrel with her?”
[173]she was deadly pale, but she tried to hold her own and to carry matters with a high hand.
“don’t you think,” she said, “that you’re rather indiscreet, mr. buckland, to presume to lecture me upon my actions? if i find that i am uncomfortable in the house of one friend, surely it is my own affair if i try another? and pray what fault have you to find with mrs. van santen? isn’t she a dear old lady, quite as kind in her way as lady jennings?”
gerard frowned in perplexity.
“oh, i suppose so,” said he. “still, the whole atmosphere is different, the tone is lower; and what you gain in liveliness and gayety—and i suppose you do gain there—is, in my opinion, more than made up for by what you lose in refinement. there—i’ve offended you deeply, i know; but i don’t care. it had to be said; and i shall never be satisfied until i see you back again at the little house where you seemed to be at home.”
she turned upon him again, in the old way, ready with some haughty speech expressive of her annoyance at his presumption; but, as she did so, she met his eyes. and, just as it had happened before, it happened again; she caught her breath; she could not go on; and with her eyes full of sudden tears, and head which bent over the flowers as if to hide her face, she remained silent, while he stood also mute, excited, moved, longing wistfully to make her[174] speak out and tell him the truth that was troubling her.
but this tête-à-tête was not allowed to last long.
gerard, jealous himself, had been quick to notice in the looks of the younger and handsomer van santen the keen admiration of miss davison’s beauty and grace, which seemed but a natural tribute to her charms.
denver came up at a sauntering pace, and with a glance at gerard, which was by no means one of pure benevolence, asked—
“are you two old friends now? is mr. buckland a long-standing acquaintance of yours, miss davison?”
“i’ve known him a year, haven’t i, mr. buckland? isn’t is about a year since i first met you at the aldingtons’?”
“it’s getting on that way now. it was in october.”
“well, don’t treat him as if he was such an old friend that you haven’t any eyes for newer ones, miss davison,” pleaded denver, in that bluff way which gave him an air of great honesty and good nature, but which struck gerard, at that moment, as being merely rude and ill-mannered. “miss davison, i want you to come in and look over my shoulder—to bring me luck,” he said.
“hadn’t you luck enough to please you this afternoon?” asked gerard, more dryly than was quite[175] civil. “you seemed to have things all your own way with aldington and gurdon, and the others!”
denver, instead of being offended, burst into a hearty laugh.
“did i?” said he. “well then, come now, you shall take revenge upon me for all the rest of ’em? will that do?”
miss davison came up to them laughing lightly.
“oh, no, mr. denver,” she said, “you mustn’t make mr. buckland play cards on sunday. it’s against his principles, i know. he’s told me so.”
denver van santen thrust his hands into his pockets, and turned to gerard with a jolly look of incredulous amazement.
“oh, come now, i can’t quite believe that,” he said. “you don’t mean that in this old country there are still left people, sensible people, who care a fig what day it is on which they have a good time?”
“i don’t know that cards are my idea of a good time,” said gerard quietly. “i’m not fond of them, and i’ve only played poker once, and that a long time ago.”
“won’t you try your luck now?”
“i think not to-day,” said gerard. “aldington and i have to be getting back to town.”
“oh, no. you’ll stay to dinner, won’t you? aldington’s going to.”
gerard tried to get hold of arthur, to persuade him to leave the priory without delay. but his[176] friend had been too much attracted by cora van santen to be able to tear himself away so soon, and they found themselves forced to stay to dinner, which was fixed on sunday at the early hour of half-past six, in order to leave more time for card-playing afterwards, as gerard discovered.
when the guests who had stayed to dinner, who numbered some eight or nine, retired to the drawing-rooms afterwards, they found there some half-dozen new arrivals, who had dropped in for the evening. when gerard entered the music-room, after dinner, where he hoped to be allowed to remain, in order to escape the card-playing, he caught sight of a figure which he thought was familiar, but which he could not immediately identify.
it was that of a tall, broad-shouldered young man, dressed, like most of the others, in dinner coat of the usual type. he stood a little apart, as if not quite at home among the others, and gerard looked at him two or three times, without being able to recollect where he had seen him before. he was a rather silly-looking man with gentle dark eyes, an insignificant nose, and a black mustache, and he seemed, from the little which gerard heard him say, to be as dull and commonplace a fellow as ever made one of the background figures at any social gathering.
he talked about the weather, and uttered those important remarks shyly, as if ashamed of the sound[177] of his own voice; altogether a very dull and uninteresting person he seemed to be.
gerard overheard sir william gurdon asking one of the van santens who he was.
“well, i believe his name is jones, and that’s about all i know about him, except that he’s been here three times, and hasn’t opened his mouth more than twice,” replied denver, with a laugh. “a regular type of your bullet-headed, stolid englishman, i call him.”
“we’re not all so dull as he appears to be,” retorted sir william, as he turned away.
mr. jones was so shy that mrs. van santen took compassion on him, and introduced him to one or two of the ladies, and in particular to rachel davison, to whom she whispered—
“your poor compatriot is so frightened that you’d be doing him a kindness if you’d say something to him. tell him it’s some time since we americans were cannibals; but for that matter, if we were still, i think he’d be quite safe.”
and the good creature led the shy young man up to miss rachel, and said—
“mr. cecil jones—miss davison.”
rachel smiled and spoke kindly to the poor fellow, and tried to put him at his ease.
but gerard was looking at the two spellbound. for mr. jones had had to turn his back to him in[178] order to make his bow to the lady to whom he was thus presented. and gerard, scarcely believing his eyes, stared at him from this new point of view, and felt more and more convinced that, though he had not recognized the dull, sheepish face, he knew the back view of mr. cecil jones; and that he was no other than the young man who had beckoned miss davison out of the tea-shop, and who had accompanied her to and from the police-station, on the day of the shop-lifting incident at the stores.
gerard felt stupefied.
what was going to happen? what were these two here for, pretending to be strangers to each other, and talking with the air of forced animation with which people do when they have been newly introduced?
gerard watched them furtively, and noted other strange things.
it was not long after dinner when the card-playing began again, but mr. jones excused himself by saying that he really scarcely knew one card from another. there was much amusement at this, and denver insisted that if he knew nothing about cards he must learn, and made him choose whether he would begin with baccarat, poker, or bridge.
“really,” protested the blushing young man, “it doesn’t much matter what i begin with, as i tell you i know nothing about any one of them.”
however, they would take no denial, and the unhappy[179] young man was thrust into a seat, forced to take the cards into his hands, and exhibited such dense ignorance of even the way to hold his cards that the van santens were secretly in fits of laughter at his expense, which they found it hard to hide.
he obstructed the game by his foolish questions, betrayed his helplessness and incompetency at every move, and grew quite angry at his own ill-luck.
“i’d always heard,” he protested ruefully, when he had lost a couple of sovereigns, the stakes having been lowered in deference to his incapacity, “that beginners generally win. i don’t seem to, though.”
“you’re not venturesome enough,” said miss davison encouragingly. “you should play with a little more daring. don’t be timid.”
“why don’t you take a hand yourself, to give him courage?” suggested denver.
“not at poker. i don’t understand it,” said she.
“well, at anything you like. what do you know? baccarat? nap? i don’t care what it is as long as it’s cards,” said denver.
miss davison consented to sit down and make one at nap, and, to gerard’s uneasiness, she won as much as the van santens did. but still cecil jones lost steadily, until he declared that he had no more money to play with.
miss davison seemed quite delighted at her own luck, and gathered up her winnings in triumph.
the others congratulated her, and gerard watched[180] her as she sailed out of the room and on to the terrace, with her winnings in her hands to show to delia van santen.
delia was the center of a lively group who were sitting on the terrace in the evening air, laughing and talking and enjoying themselves more innocently than the gamblers within.
cora and arthur aldington were sitting apart on the stone balustrade, and gerard could see that the young man was getting every moment more deeply in love with the graceful songstress.
miss davison ran up to mrs. van santen and showed her winnings with delight; but the old lady was not pleased.
“dear me,” she said, “i don’t know what you young folks want with so much money, that you must needs gamble to get it! i should have thought it was much pleasanter to spend the evening in this beautiful air than in those hot rooms! and you, miss davison! i’m surprised at you. i was looking to you to win denver from his gaming ways! he thinks so much of you, and admires you so much! and now you’re encouraging him in it!”
the old lady had talked herself out of breath, while rachel only laughed and put her winnings in her purse.
“i’ll cure him,” she said, “by winning all his money and leaving him without any! won’t that do, mrs. van santen?”
[181]and she laughed archly at the gentle old lady, who shook her head and told her she was every bit as bad as the boys.
meanwhile the play went on, sometimes at one game, and sometimes at another; and the luck varied a little, but only a little.
denver van santen warned all those who wanted to play poker with him that they had better not unless they wanted to lose their money.
“i’ll back myself,” he said quite frankly, “to play poker against anybody. against anybody—i don’t care who it is.”
and truly enough, although at other games the luck varied a good deal, it was hopeless to try to get the better of denver at his favorite game.
harry van santen, who was a plain, wrinkled man, with long teeth and a cold, funless smile, played bridge well, and won for the most part; but his luck was subject to variations, and when he reckoned up his fortune at the end of the play, he avowed himself a loser by two pounds ten.
but denver pursued a boastful and victorious course, which remained uncheckered to the end. he was perfectly candid and honest about his winnings, reckoned them up openly, and found that he had made twenty-six pounds during the day. but he was so swaggeringly triumphant, so carelessly sure of always retaining the luck he had had that day, that he irritated some of the men, and got two or[182] three promises, among them one from sir william gurdon, that he should not be allowed to win always. they would come another day and get their own back.
but denver, laughing with great good humor, defied them all.
they might come and play with him whenever they liked, but they would get a licking, he said. he flattered himself he knew what he was talking about. and while he admitted that he was weak in geography, history, and the use of the globes, he was ready to bet his bottom dollar that he would hold his own at his own favorite game till the end of the chapter.
he grew excited and challenged them to bring to the priory any british poker-player alive, and he would show him a thing or two he, the britisher, didn’t know.
and so, good-humored to the end, but secure and confident in his victories, denver saw the guests off, and stood at the priory door waving his hand to the men whom he had made the victims of his skill.
gerard and arthur were among the last to leave, arthur being unable to tear himself away from cora’s side, and gerard being very anxious, as he always was, for just a last word with miss davison.
when he got his opportunity, gerard asked abruptly—
[183]“why did you pretend you’d never seen mr. jones before this evening?”
miss davison opened wide eyes of surprise.
“really, mr. buckland, it’s very hard to have to say so, but don’t you think you are going a little too far? i don’t know what you mean.”
“you have met mr. cecil jones before, but this evening you treated him as if he had been a complete stranger.”
a light came into her eyes.
“oh, i know whom you take him for,” she said quickly. “the man you saw me with that day—the day when something happened at the stores.”
“yes, yes,” cried he, surprised at her sudden touch of candor.
she smiled demurely.
“but that man,” she said, with a smile of irritating superior knowledge, “was not mr. jones at all. i swear it.”
“you swear!” faltered gerard.
“yes; i’m not at liberty to tell you that man’s name, but—it is not cecil jones.”
gerard fell back, bewildered and wounded. he could not bear to face fresh proofs of her duplicity. but was he mistaken? or was she forsworn?
