Yet deep down within her a voice said that the moment would
never come again; and she had no longer her old gay confidence in
placing her stakes.
The crowds had ceased to collect round her table, to watch the
"wonderful Miss Grant." It is the sensational wins, where piles of gold
and notes mount up, that people rush to gaze upon. They are not amused
by seeing money monotonously swept off the tables, even in immense sums.
It discourages and depresses them. Nobody likes to be discouraged and
depressed; therefore Mary had lost her audiences. Still she played on,
and listened to no advice.
This morning, however, when she woke to remember her promise to the
cure, she felt oddly disinclined to go to the Casino. Usually she
wakened, after dozing fitfully, dreaming over again last night's
worries, with an almost tremulous longing to be at the tables once more,
a longing that seemed even more physical than mental, an aching of the
nerves. Now the burning desire was suddenly assuaged, or forgotten in
the powerful sway of a new thought, as illness can be forgotten in
sudden fear or joy. The Casino appeared unimportant, trivial. All there
was of her was already on the mountain, in the little garden which Rose
Winter had said was like fairyland.
Mary did not wish to be questioned by anybody in the house, however; so
she went out at the usual hour, found her employe in the long queue of
those who waited before the Casino doors, paid him, and said that he
might keep the seat for himself.
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