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Everybody seemed
gay, yet everybody could not be winning. Fortune had not smiled upon
Lesbia's cards, or on those of her partner. The Smithson and Haselden
firm had come to grief. Lesbia's little ivory purse had been emptied of
its three or four half-sovereigns, and Mr. Smithson had been
capitalising a losing concern for the last two hours. And the play had
been fast and furious, although nominally for small stakes.
'I am afraid to think of how much I must owe you,' said Lesbia, when Mr.
Smithson bade her good night.
'Oh, nothing worth speaking of--sixteen or seventeen pounds, at most.'
Lesbia felt cold and creepy, and hardly knew whether it was the chill of
new-born day, or the sense of owing money to Horace Smithson. Those
three or four half-sovereigns to-night were the end of her last
remittance from Lady Maulevrier. She had had a great many remittances
from that generous grandmother; and the money had all gone, somehow. It
was gone, and yet she had paid for hardly anything. She had accounts
with all Lady Kirkbank's tradesmen.


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