"You need never think that I run the slightest risk of becoming a gambler," she went on, a little breathlessly. "I was looking at my account-book to-day, and I find that since I have been here I have lost seventy francs. Two days ago I had won a hundred and ten francs. So you see it is not a very serious matter, is it? Just think of all the fun I've had! It's well worth the money I've lost. Besides, I shall probably win it all back"
"I was not thinking of the money," said Anna Wolsky slowly.
Sylvia made a restless movement, and took her hand out of Anna's affectionate clasp.
"I'm afraid that you are becoming very fond of the Comte de Virieu," went on Anna, in a low voice but very deliberately. "You must forgive me, Sylvia, but I am older than you are. Have you thought of the consequences of this friendship of yours? I confess that at the beginning I credited that man with the worst of motives, but now I feel afraid that he is in love—in fact I feel sure that he is madly in love with you. Do you know that he never takes his eyes off you in the Club? Often he forgets to pick up his winnings. …"
Sylvia's heart began to beat. She wondered if Anna was indeed telling the truth. She almost bent forward and kissed her friend in her gratitude—but all she said was, and that defiantly,
"You can believe me when I say that he has never said a word of love to me. He has never even flirted with me. I give you my word that that is so!"
"Ah, but it is just that fact that makes me believe that he cares. Flirtation is an English art, not a French art,
