As the chips flew his mind flew faster.

In his optimism he had half believed that the cloud of mystery in which Josephine had buried him would, in time, be voluntarily lifted by her.

He had not been able to make himself believe that any situation could exist where hopelessness was as complete as she had described.
Without arguing with himself he had taken it for granted that she had been labouring under a tremendous strain, and that no matter what her trouble was it had come to look immeasurably darker to her than it really was.

But Jean's attitude, his low and unexcited voice, and the almost omniscient decisiveness of his words had convinced him that Josephine had not painted it as blackly as she might.

She, at least, had seemed to see a ray of hope.