As if she was not as
happy now as she was ever destined to be!
Voices. Two men were speaking near the curb-door. She turned her head
involuntarily in this direction. There were no lights in the frontage
before which stood her cab, which intervened between the Brocken haze
in the street, throwing a square of Stygian shadow against the fog,
with right and left angles of aureola. She could distinguish no shapes.
"Cheer up, old top; you're in hard luck."
"I'm a bally ass."
"No, no; only a ripping good sporty game all the way through."
Oddly enough, Kitty sensed the irony. She wondered if the speaker's
companion did.
"Well, a wager's a wager."
"And you're the last chap to welch a square bet. What's the odds? My
word, I didn't urge you to change the stakes."
"Didn't you?"
The voice was young and pleasant; and Kitty was sure that the owner's
face was even as pleasant as his voice. What had he wagered and lost?
"If you're really hard pressed. . . ."
"Hard pressed! Man, I've nothing in God's world but two guineas, six.
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