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 him wind his arm tight round her. Presently she said, and said it very sweet, too;

"Marmontel has won a great deal off you, hasn't he?"

"The matter of four thousand," replied he, very gloomily.

"You would win it back, and more, if I were to spin the ball to-night, and you were my partner," she went on, still very nicely.

"You're mocking me!" said he in French, but his face flushed with the word; "the thing's not possible."

"Not possible!" said she, looking up at him in her saucy way—"not possible, when two of the croupiers at Monaco made a fortune out of it last year. Oh, Sir Nicolas Steele, how simple you are!"

"But it's a new idea to me," said he, and he was excited too. "Will you show it to me once more?"

"What number will you have?" asked she.

"Twenty-seven for luck!" cried he.

I saw her take the little ball in her hand and spin the basin. When at last it stopped, Sir Nicolas gave a great cry and jumped up off his seat.

"There's a fortune in that," said he.

"Without doubt, for those that know how to use it," was her answer.

"You mean" said he.

But what she meant I never heard, for they had both risen from their seats, and I thought it about time to make off. She was locking the little basin in