Chapter EightHarriet Vulcan staked a pile of gold guineas and lost it. A second pile went the same way. She looked across the table and caught the gleam of triumph in Lord Wrotham’s eyes.
“The Devil take you, Harry,” she exclaimed, “for undoubtedly his luck is with you.”
Lord Wrotham looked complacently at the big pile of winnings on the table beside him. He tidied them with his left hand, stacking the guineas one on top of the other.
“Poor Harriet,” he commiserated, “you are certainly out of luck.”
“It will change! It will change!” the Marchioness responded angrily.
“Do you challenge me again?”
“Of course,” the Marchioness replied. “Do you think I am chicken-hearted?”
“Never that, Harriet,” he replied softly. “Shall we say a little reckless? The first rule for every gambler, my dea
