Zoe beamed with pleasure. “That spiteful old woman! I am ashamed of myself. Of course you have. It becomes a man to say je veux; and it becomes a woman to yield. Forgive our unworthy doubts. We will all go to the Kursaal to-morrow.”
The reconciliation was complete; and, to add to Zoe's happiness, she made a little discovery. Rosa came in to see if she wanted anything. That, you must know, was Rosa's way of saying, “It is very late. I'm tired; so the sooner you go to bed, the better.” And Zoe was by nature so considerate that she often went to bed more for Rosa's convenience than her own inclination.
But this time she said, sharply, “Yes, I do. I want to know who had my fire lighted for me in the middle of summer.”
“Why, squire, to be sure,” said Rosa.
“What—my brother!”
“Yes, miss; and seen to it all hisself: leastways, I found the things properly muddled. 'Twas to be seen a man had been at 'em.”
Rosa retired, leaving Zoe's face a picture.
Just then Vizard put his head cautiously in at the window, and said, in a comic whisper, “Is she gone?”
“Yes, she is gone,” cried Zoe, “and you are wanted in her place.” She ran to meet him. “Who ordered a fire in my room, and muddled all my things?” said she, severely.
“I did. What of that?”
“Oh, nothing. Only now I know who is my friend. Young people, here's a lesson for you. When a lady is out in the rain, don't prepare a lecture for her, like Aunt Maitland, but light her fire, like this dear old duck of a woman-hating impostor. Kiss me!” (violently).
“There—pest!”
“That is not enough, nor half. There, and there, and there, and there, and there, and there.”
“Now look here, my young friend,” said Vizard, holding her lovely head by both ears, “you are exciting yourself about nothing, and that will end in one of your headaches. So, just take your candle, and go to bed, like a good little girl.”
“Must I? Well, then, I will. Goodby, tyrant dear. Oh, how I love you! Come, Fanny.”
She gave her hand shyly to Severne, and soon they were both in Zoe's room.
Rosa was dismissed, and they had their chat; but it was nearly all on one side. Fanny had plenty to say, but did not say it. She had not the heart to cloud that beaming face again so soon; she temporized: Zoe pressed her with questions too; but she slurred things, Zoe asked her why Miss Maitland was so bitter against Mr. Severne. Fanny said, in an off-hand way, “Oh, it is only on your account she objects to him.”
“And what are her objections?”
“Oh, only grammatical ones, dear. She says his antecedents are obscure, and his relatives unknown, ha! ha! ha!” Fanny laughed, but Zoe did not see the fun. Then Fanny stroked her down.
“Never mind that old woman. I shall interfere properly, if I see you in danger. It was monstrous her making an esclandre at the very dinner-table, and spoiling your happy day.”
“But she hasn't!” cried Zoe, eagerly. “'All's well that ends well.' I am happy—oh, so happy! You love me. Harrington loves me. He loves me. What more can any woman ask for than to be ambata bene?”
This was the last word between Zoe and Fanny upon St. Brooch's day.
As Fanny went to her own room, the vigilant Maitland opened her door that looked upon the corridor and beckoned her in. “Well,” said she, “did you speak to Zoe?”
“Just a word before dinner. Aunt, she came in wet, to the skin, and in higher spirits than Rosa ever knew her.”
Aunt groaned.
“And what do you think? Her spoiled dress, she ordered it to be ironed and put by. It is a case.”
Next day they all met at a late breakfast, and good humor was the order of the day. This encouraged Zoe to throw out a feeler about the gambling-tables. Then Fanny said it must be nice to gamble, because it was so naughty. “In a long experience,” said Miss Dover, with a sigh, “I have found that whatever is nice is naughty, and whatever is naughty is nice.”
“There's a short code of morals,” observed Vizard, “for the use of seminaries. Now let us hear Severne; he knows all the defenses of gambling lunacy has discovered.”
Severne, thus appealed to, said play was like other things, bad only when carried to excess. “At Homburg, where the play is fair, what harm can there be in devoting two or three hours of a long day to trente et quarante? The play exercises memory, judgment, sangfroid, and other good qualities of the mind. Above all, it is on the square. Now, buying and selling shares without delivery, bulling, and bearing, and rigging, and Stock Exchange speculations in general, are just as much gambling; but with cards all marked, and dice loaded, and the fair player has no chance. The world,” said this youthful philosopher, “is taken in by words. The truth is, that gambling with cards is fair, and gambling without cards a swindle.”
“He is hard upon the City,” said the Vizard; “but no matter. Proceed, young man. Develop your code of morals for the amusement of mankind, while duller spirits inflict instruction.”
“You have got my opinion,” said Severne. “Oblige us with yours.”
“No; mine would not be popular just now: I reserve it till we are there, and can see the lunatics at work.”
“Oh, then we are to go,” cried Fanny. “Oh, be joyful!”
“That depends on Miss Maitland. It is not in my department.”
Instantly four bright eyes were turned piteously on the awful Maitland.
“Oh, aunt,” said Zoe, pleadingly, “do you think there would be any great harm in our—just for once in a way?”
“My dear,” said Miss Maitland, solemnly, “I cannot say that I approve of public gambling in general. But at Homburg the company is select. I have seen a German prince, a Russian prince, and two English countesses, the very e'lite of London society, seated at the same table in the Kursaal. I think, therefore, there can be no harm in your going, under the conduct of older persons—myself, for example, and your brother.”
“Code three,” suggested Vizard—“the chaperonian code.”
“And a very good one, too,” said Zoe. “But, aunt, must we look on, or may we play just a little, little?”
“My dear, there can be no great harm in playing a little, in good company—if you play with your own money.” She must have one dig at Severne.
“I shan't play very deep, then,” said Fanny; “for I have got no money hardly.”
Vizard came to the front, like a man. “No more should I,” said he, “but for Herries & Co. As it is, I am a Croesus, and I shall stand one hundred pounds, which you three ladies must divide; and between you, no doubt, you will break the bank.”
Acclamations greeted this piece of misogyny. When they had subsided, Severne was called on to explain the game, and show the young ladies how to win a fortune with thirty-three pounds six shillings and eight pence.
The table was partly cleared, two packs of cards sent for, and the professor lectured.
“This,” said he, “is the cream of the game. Six packs are properly shuffled, and properly cut; the players put their money on black or red, which is the main event, and is settled thus: The dealer deals the cards in two rows. He deals the first row for black, and stops the moment the cards pass thirty. That