She slept better afterward than
she had slept since Christmas, her first night in the Villa Bella Vista.
Mary's habit was to go to the Casino every morning as soon as the doors
opened, and she paid the artist whom she had met in the Paris train to
seize a place for her, in the rush of early players. For doing this he
received ten francs, which gave him two stakes at roulette, and
sometimes enabled him to play for several hours before he was "cleaned
out." She had lost a good deal by this time; all her original winnings,
and had begun to fall back on her own capital, for her luck had never
returned for more than a few hours together. A hateful sense of failure
was upon her. She was feverishly anxious to get back her losses, not so
much for the money's sake as for the pleasure of "beating the bank," as
she had continually beaten it at first. Once, she had had the great
white, good-natured animal under her feet, and people had looked at her
with wondering admiration, as if she had been Una leading an obedient
lion. Now the admiring looks, tributes to her lovely face and pretty
clothes or jewels, were tempered with pity. The lion had Una in his
mouth. There seemed to be no question in the public mind as to how he
would eventually dispose of her. Mary felt the difference keenly. She
could hardly submit to it. She wanted desperately to do something which,
in every sense, would turn the tables. She risked huge sums in a wild
hope that her courage might conquer luck, that again she might know the
peculiar joy, the indescribable thrill of seeing the "bank" send for
more money.
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