His invention was beginning to bring him in a little, but it
would never make a fortune; and he was not one who could afford a
"flutter" at Monte Carlo without counting the cost. To-night, however,
after winning some thousands of francs, it did not occur to him--as it
might if some other man in his circumstances had been concerned--that it
would be wise to stop. The spin of the wheel began to exert a
fascination over his mind, appealing to all that was adventurous in him.
Not once was he conscious of putting on a stake for the sake of the
money it might gain; not once did he hesitate from fear of loss. It was
the call of the unknown that lured him, the thrilling doubt as to where
the ball would stop.
The little dancing white thing, magical as a silver bullet, seemed a
miniature incarnation of destiny, spinning his fate. Always Vanno was
pricked by the desire to try again, and see if he could once more
foretell the result. There lay the poignant, the indescribable charm: in
not knowing.
He saw now that he had misjudged gamblers in believing them all to be
mercenary, at least at the moment of gambling. Some might be so, many
perhaps; but he began to realize that the chief appeal was to the
imaginative temperament, such as he knew his own, and guessed Mary's, to
be.
When his stake was larger than usual--larger a good deal than he could
afford in prudence--he revelled in the uncertainty of the event which he
intensely desired. And it dawned in his mind that this was the true
intoxication of the gambler, the delicious anguish of playing with the
unknown.
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