"And La--La--what did you call her? La Jolleta--what became of her?"

She made a graphic gesture.

"She went into the sack, little one---into the sack. She was old. One
should go gracefully."

"You too," Stonehouse said, in a savage undertone.

"I---- Oh, no, _jamais, jamais_." She lifted the monstrous crest of
plumage from her head and set it in the midst of the flowers and
rumpled up her hair till she was like the child riding the fat pony.
"You see yourself--I never grow old, my friend."

"You are older already," he persisted.

But the man opposite broke in again. He leant towards Stonehouse, his
inflamed eye through the staring monocle fixing him with an
extraordinary tipsy earnestness.

"No, doctor, you are mis-mistaken. It would be intolerable--you
understand--quite intolerable. There are things that--that must not be
true--as there are other things that must be true. We've staked our
last penny on it, sir, and we've got to win. Mademoiselle here knows
all about it, and she'll play the game. A sport, doctor, a sport.
Won't let old friends go bankrupt--no--certainly not."

They laughed at him. It seemed unlikely that he himself knew what he
was talking about. But he shook his head and remained sunk in solemn