The lights were flaring at No. 1 Lytton Avenue, as they seemed to flare almost day and night. The red carpet crossed the pavement; inside the banks of flowers nodded their brilliant heads, there was a rustle of silken drapery and a ripple of laughter from the drawing-room. It was all typical of a life of pleasure.

In one corner was an oblong table, surrounded by an eager, silent group. A bald-headed man with a matted black beard and a great curved nose was taking the place of banker. The great financier Isaac Isidore was as keen over the banknotes here as he was over the millions he gambled in the city.

No servants were present, they had been sent away long ago. Tempting things were set out on a side table, and whoever wanted anything helped himself. The players were so intent upon their game that nothing could be heard beyond their laboured breathing.

They were gambling in earnest, there were hundreds of pounds in notes and gold on the dull green cloth. A handsome youth, who was ruining himself and his estate as speedily as possible, sat easy and collected next to a young society lady, whose husband would have been shot rather than see her in such company. A pretty marchioness, the daughter of an American millionaire, was plunging greedily and losing as steadily. Countess Lalage smiled with perfect equanimity as she saw her own counters vanishing. She pushed over two small notes with a little sigh. She did not look as if they were the last she had in the world, but they were.

The whole brilliant house of cards must topple down soon unless help came from somewhere. Already capitalists in the city were asking questions about the securities they held, the hearts of certain tradesmen were beginning to grow anxious.

"Lend me ￡500, Lady Longmere," the Countess asked gaily.

"Not a cent," Lady Longmere cried in a high nasal voice. "I guess my luck\'s just in, and I\'m going to make the most of it. I\'m ￡8,000 to the bad, and once I make that up you don\'t catch me at this game again. If Longmere knew that I had broken my word like this he would kill me."

"Who\'ll lend me a few hundreds?" Leona Lalage cried with a red spot on her cheeks.

Nobody replied. They were all under her own roof, they had all enjoyed her hospitality times out of mind, but not one of them was prepared to lend her money. And Leona had had a fearful run of luck lately. Out of all those dainty smiling friends of hers seated round that table there was not one who did not hold her I.O.U. for considerable sums of money. She was beginning to be talked about. That very morning in the Park a well-known society leader had ignored her until recognition was forced upon her by sheer audacity.

"No one to help me at all?" she pleaded. Her voice was low, but she shook with passion. The big financier growled out that he would trust her to ￡50. In two minutes this was gone, and the banker made no further sign.

She must go on, it was absolutely necessary. Audacity would carry her far, but even she had need of ready money. And luck must turn now, if she had a hundred or two she was certain of it. It was madness, to sit there, and watch that golden stream change hands and not share it. She could have risen up and smitten her guests, and turned them furiously out of the house, but she had to sit there and smile. The gambler\'s fever was upon her, and there was dire necessity for some ready money on the morrow. She rose from the table with a sudden resolution. As she turned, she saw Lawrence looking critically round him.
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