CHAPTER XXVII.
MALCOURT LISTENS Malcourt was up and ready before seven when his sister came to his door, dressed in her pretty blue travelling gown, hatted, veiled, gloved to perfection; but there was a bloom on cheek and mouth which mocked at the wearied eyes--a lassitude in every step as she slowly entered and seated herself.
For a moment neither spoke; her brother was looking at her narrowly; and after a while she raised her veil, turning her face to the merciless morning light.
"Paint," she said; "and I'm little older than you." "You will be younger than I am, soon." She paled a trifle under the red.
"Are you losing your reason, Louis ?" "No, but I've contrived to lose everything else.

It was a losing game from the beginning--for both of us." "Are you going to be coward enough to drop your cards and quit the game ?" "Call it that.

But the cards are marked and the game crooked--as crooked as Herby's." He began to laugh.

"The world's dice are loaded; I've got enough." "Yet you beat Bertie in spite of--" "For Portlaw's sake.

I wouldn't fight with marked cards for my own sake.
Faugh! the world plays a game too rotten to suit me.