"You will not play with this money?" she said, in a low voice.
"It is no use my making a promise, especially to you, that I might not be able to keep"
He got up, and stood looking down at her.
"But I promise that I will not waste or risk this money if I can resist the temptation to do so."
Sylvia smiled, though she felt more inclined to cry.
He seemed stung by her look.
"Do you wish me to give you my word of honour that I will not risk any of this money at the tables?" he asked, almost in a whisper.
Sylvia's heart began to beat. Count Paul had become very pale. There was a curious expression on his face—an expression of revolt, almost of anger.
"Do you exact it?" he repeated, almost violently.
And Sylvia faltered out, "Could you keep your word if I did exact it?"
"Ah, you have learnt to know me too well!"
He walked away, leaving her full of perplexity and pain.
A few moments passed. They seemed very long moments to Sylvia Bailey. Then Count Paul turned and came back.
He sat down, and made a great effort to behave as if nothing unusual or memorable had passed between them.
"And has anything happened here?" he asked. "Is there any news of your vanished friend?"
Sylvia shook her head gravely. The Polish woman's odd, and, to her, inexplicable, conduct still hurt her almost as much as it had done at first.
