_Et tu Brute!_"
"I told you she was a lady." Dick turned rather white. "She doesn't know
what she's doing. I'm sure she doesn't. She--even Schuyler, who reads
most people at sight like A B C, can't make her out. She's a mystery."
"Forgive me," said Rose. "I was half in fun. I wouldn't hurt your
_Flying-Fish_ feelings for anything on earth or in air. Is she pretty,
and is she American--or what?"
"She's perfectly beautiful, and she's English, I think."
"Hasn't she told you?"
"No. She says nothing about herself--I mean about herself before she
came here."
"What's past is past. Dark or fair?--not her past, but her complexion?"
"Fair."
"_Not_ one of those pink and white girls picked out in blue and gold,
one sees about so much?"
"As different from them as moonlight from footlights. If ever you went
into the Casino, you couldn't have helped having her pointed out to
you. She's always there, and she's so awfully pretty and dresses so--so
richly, and wins such a lot that everybody stares and talks. She's the
sensation of the place."
"But I never do go into the Casino, of course--that is, not into the
Rooms. I go to the Thursday Classical Concerts, and even that St. George
shakes his head over, as it's inside the fatal door. You see he's here
to preach against gambling, among other things."
"I don't suppose the gamblers go to hear his sermons?"
"Oh, yes, they do. A good many of them feel that if they attend church
and put money in the plate, and don't play on Sunday, the rest's all
right.
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