She had begun to believe in her luck, others had begun to believe in it: she had visions of being followed by a _cortege_ who would worship her as a goddess of luck and watch her play as a directing augury.

Such things had been known of male gamblers; why should not a woman have a like supremacy?
Her friend and chaperon who had not wished her to play at first was beginning to approve, only administering the prudent advice to stop at the right moment and carry money back to England--advice to which Gwendolen had replied that she cared for the excitement of play, not the winnings.

On that supposition the present moment ought to have made the flood-tide in her eager experience of gambling.

Yet, when her next stake was swept away, she felt the orbits of her eyes getting hot, and the certainty she had (without looking) of that man still watching her was something like a pressure which begins to be torturing.

The more reason to her why she should not flinch, but go on playing as if she were indifferent to loss or gain.