She sank down into an easy chair and rested her pretty head on her delicately gloved hand.
"Oh, Mrs.Dunlap," she began convulsively, "I hope you will pardon an entire stranger for breaking in on you so informally--but--but I can't--I can't help it.

I must tell some one." Accustomed as she was now to strange confidences, Constance bent over and patted the little hand of Mrs.Noble comfortingly.
"You seemed to take it so coolly," went on the other woman.

"For me the glamour, the excitement are worse than champagne.

But you could stop, even when you were winning.

Oh, my God! What am I to do?
What will happen when my husband finds out what I have done!" Tearfully, the little woman poured out the sordid story of her fascination for the game, of her losses, of the pawning of her jewels to pay her losses and keep them secret, if only for a few days, until that mythical time when luck would change.
"When I started," she blurted out with a bitter little laugh, "I thought I'd make a little pin money.