In her blue dress, with her cheeks lightly flushed, her blue, blue
eyes, and her gold curls pinned up as though for the first time—pinned
up to be out of the way for her flight—Mrs. Raddick’s daughter might
have just dropped from this radiant heaven. Mrs. Raddick’s timid,
faintly astonished, but deeply admiring glance looked as if she
believed it, too; but the daughter didn’t appear any too pleased—why
should she?—to have alighted on the steps of the Casino. Indeed, she
was bored—bored as though Heaven had been full of casinos with snuffy
old saints for _croupiers_ and crowns to play with.
“You don’t mind taking Hennie?” said Mrs. Raddick. “Sure you don’t?
There’s the car, and you’ll have tea and we’ll be back here on this
step—right here—in an hour. You see, I want her to go in. She’s not
been before, and it’s worth seeing. I feel it wouldn’t be fair to her.”
“Oh, shut up, mother,” said she wearily. “Come along. Don’t talk so
much. And your bag’s open; you’ll be losing all your money again.”
“I’m sorry, darling,” said Mrs. Raddick.
“Oh, _do_ come in! I want to make money,” said the impatient voice.
“It’s all jolly well for you—but I’m broke!”
“Here—take fifty francs, darling, take a hundred!” I saw Mrs. Raddick
pressing notes into her hand as they passed through the swing doors.
Hennie and I stood on the steps a minute, watching the people. He had a
very broad, delighted smile.
“I say,” he cried, “there’s an English bulldog. Are they allowed to
take dogs in there?”
“No, they’re not.”
“He’s a ripping chap, isn’t he? I wish I had one. They’re such fun.
They frighten people so, and they’re never fierce with their—the people
they belong to.” Suddenly he squeezed my arm. “I say, _do_ look at that
old woman. Who is she? Why does she look like that? Is she a gambler?”
The ancient, withered creature, wearing a green satin dress, a black
velvet cloak and a white hat with purple feathers, jerked slowly,
slowly up the steps as though she were being drawn up on wires. She
stared in front of her, she was laughing and nodding and cackling to
herself; her claws clutched round what looked like a dirty boot-bag.
But just at that moment there was Mrs. Raddick again with—_her_—and
another lady hovering in the background. Mrs. Raddick rushed at me. She
was brightly flushed, gay, a different creature. She was like a woman
who is saying “good-bye” to her friends on the station platform, with
not a minute to spare before the train starts.
“Oh, you’re here, still. Isn’t that lucky! You’ve not gone. Isn’t that
fine! I’ve had the most dreadful time with—her,” and she waved to her
daughter, who stood absolutely still, disdainful, looking down,
twiddling her foot on the step, miles away. “They won’t let her in. I
swore she was twenty-one. But they won’t believe me. I showed the man
my purse; I didn’t dare to do more. But it was no use. He simply
scoffed.... And now I’ve just met Mrs. MacEwen from New York, and she
just won thirteen thousand in the _Salle Privée_—and she wants me to go
back with her while the luck lasts. Of course I can’t leave—her. But if
you’d—”
At that “she” looked up; she simply withered her mother. “Why can’t you
leave me?” she said furiously. “What utter rot! How dare you make a
scene like this? This is the last time I’ll come out with you. You
really are too awful for words.” She looked her mother up and down.
“Calm yourself,” she said superbly.
Mrs. Raddick was desperate, just desperate. She was “wild” to go back
with Mrs. MacEwen, but at the same time....