But he was wrong.  Though elated by victory, Piers was not drawn by the gambling vice.  The thing amused him, but it did not greatly attract.  He was by no means dazzled by the spoils he carried away.

They went out to the gardens, and called for liqueurs.  The woman who had spoken to Piers yet hovered about the doors.  She cursed him through her painted lips as he passed, but he went by her like a prince, haughtily aloof, contemptuously regardless.

They sat down in a comparatively quiet corner, whence they could watch the ever-shifting picture without being disturbed.  A very peculiar mood possessed Piers.  He was restless and uneasy in spite of his high spirits.  For no definite reason he wanted to keep on the move.  In deference to Crowther’s wish, he controlled the desire, but it was an obvious effort.

He seemed to find difficulty also in attending to Crowther’s quiet remarks, and after a while Crowther ceased to make them.  He finished his liqueur and sat smoking with his eyes on the dark, sensitive face that watched the passing crowd so indifferently, yet so persistently.

Piers noticed his silence at last, and looked at him enquiringly.  “Shall we go?”

Crowther leaned slowly towards him.  The place was public, but their privacy was complete.

“Piers,” he said, “may I take the privilege of an old friend?”

“You may take anything you like so far as I am concerned,” said Piers impetuously.

Crowther smiled a little.  “Thank you.  Then I will go ahead.  Are you engaged to be married?”

“What?” said Piers.  He looked momentarily startled; then laughed across the table with a freedom that was wholly unaffected.  “Am I engaged, did you say?  No, I’m not.  But I’m going to be married for all that.”

“Ah!” said Crowther.  “I thought I knew the signs.”

He rose with the words, and instantly Piers sprang up also.  “Yes, let’s go!  I can’t breathe here.  Come down to the shore for a breath of air, and I’ll tell you all about it!”

He linked his arm again in Crowther’s, obviously glad to be gone; but when they had left the glittering place behind them, he still talked inconsequently about a thousand things till in his calm fashion Crowther turned him back.

“I don’t want you to tell me anything personal,” he said, “save one thing.  This girl whom you hope to marry—­I gather you are pretty sure of her?”

Piers threw back his head with a gesture that defied the world.  “I am quite sure of her,” he said; and a moment later, with impulsive confidence:  “She has just taken the trouble to write at length and tell me why she can’t have me.”

“Ah?” Crowther’s tone held curiosity as well as kindly sympathy.  “A sound reason?”

“No reason at all,” flung back Piers, still with his face to the stars.  “She knows that as well as I do.  I tell you, Crowther, I know the way to that woman’s heart, and I could find it blindfold.  She is mine already.”