The Knave of Diamonds | Page 3

followed a few moments of silence; then in his careless,
unmusical drawl the man spoke.
"Do you mind telling me your first name? It is essential to the game, of
course, or I shouldn't presume to ask."
"My name is Anne," she said.
The noise below had lessened considerably, and this fact seemed to
cause her some relief. The tension had gone out of her bearing. She sat
with her chin upon her hand.
Not a beautiful woman by any means, she yet possessed that
indescribable charm which attracts almost in spite of itself. There was
about her every movement a queenly grace that made her remarkable,
and yet she was plainly not one to court attention. Her face in repose
had a look of unutterable weariness.
"How old are you please?" said the magician.
"Twenty-five."
He glanced up at her.
"Yes, twenty-five," she repeated. "I am twenty-five to-day."

He looked at her fixedly for a few seconds, then in silence returned to
his cards.
She continued to watch him without much interest. The dance-music
was quickening to the finale. The hubbub of voices had died away.
Evidently a good many people had ceased to dance.
Suddenly her companion spoke. "Do you like diamonds?"
She smiled at the question. "Yes, I like them. I haven't a passion for
them."
"No," he said, without raising his eyes. "You haven't a passion for
anything at present. You will have soon."
"I think it very unlikely," she said.
"Of course you do." He was manoeuvring the cards rapidly with one
hand. "Your eyes have not been opened yet. I see an exciting time
before you. You are going to have an illness first. That comes in the
near future."
"I have never been ill in my life," she said.
"No? It will be an experience for you, then--not a very painful one, I
hope. Are you getting nervous?"
"Not in the least."
"Ah! That's as well, because here comes the King of Diamonds. He has
taken a decided fancy to you, and if you have any heart at all, which I
can't discover, you ought to end by being the Queen. No, here comes
the Knave--confound his impudence!--and, by Jove, yes, followed by
the missing heart. I am glad you have got one anyway, even if the King
is not in it. It looks as if you will have some trouble with that Knave, so
beware of him." He glanced up at her for a moment. "Beware of him!"
he repeated deliberately. "He is a dangerous scamp. The King is the
man for you."

She received his caution with that faint smile of hers that softened her
face but never seemed to reach her eyes.
He continued his contemplation of the cards in silence for some
seconds. "Yes," he said finally, "I see an exciting future before you. I
hope you will look out for me when you come into your own. I should
value your majesty's favour immensely."
"I will give you a place at court as the Queen's jester," she said.
He glanced up again sharply, met her smile, and bowed with much
ceremony. "Your majesty's most humble servant!" he declared, "I enter
upon my functions from this day forward. You will see my cap and
bells in the forefront of the throng when you ride to your coronation."
"You are sure there will be a coronation?" she asked.
"It is quite evident," he replied with conviction.
"Even though I chance to be married already?"
He raised his brows. "That so?" he drawled. "Well, it rather
complicates matters, doesn't it? Still--" He looked again at the cards. "It
seems pretty certain. If it weren't for that hobgoblin of a Knave I should
say it was quite so. He comes between the King and the heart, you see.
I shouldn't be too intimate with him if I were you."
She rose, still smiling. "I shall certainly keep him at a respectful
distance," she said. "Good-bye."
"Oh, are you going? Let me escort you! Really, I've nothing else to do."
He swept the cards together and sprang to his feet. "Where may I take
you? Would you like some refreshment?"
She accepted his proffered arm though she instantly negatived his
proposal. "Shall we go down to the vestibule? No doubt you have a
partner for the next dance."
"Have you?" he questioned keenly.

"That is beside the point," she remarked.
"Not at all. It is the centre and crux of the situation. Do say you are
disengaged for the next!" His manner became almost boyishly eager.
He had shed his drawl like a garment. "Say it!" he insisted.
She stood in the doorway as one halting between two opinions. "But if I
am not disengaged?" she said.
He laughed. "There is a remedy for that, I