ice, with that telltale thickening in it, sheer
dread of what he might do banished all thought of social niceties. Roger
was not often like this, but when he was it meant trouble.

"Hello, Roger." Faxon's manner underwent a subtle change. "Thought you
were playin' bridge with the crowd."

"Bridge? Me? Not on your life! I've cut that out. I'm sick of givin' the
whole party, I am. I'm sick of bein' a Christmas-tree for blind babies.
Put your han's in my pockets, boys. Ev'body's doin' it! No, sir, I've
quit f' good. Where's the Scotch?"

"Really, Roger," protested Baker somewhat anxiously, "don't you think
you'd better...."

"Jus' one toast," insisted Roger obstinately, "jus' one." He drew
himself unsteadily erect. "I wanta drink--I wanta drink--to the mos'
beautiful, mos' 'ttractive, mos' heartless...." As he raised the glass
with a flourish, it slipped from his fingers and crashed on the table,
its golden contents trickling over Baker's knees.

There was momentary silence; then a single short laugh. It sobered
Wynrod like a dash of cold water. "You think I'm funny?" he demanded.

Faxon reddened. "Oh, come now, Roger, why so peevish? You've got things
to be thankful about. I hear that Vera is leaving you, without even the
threat of a breach of promise suit--"

The blood surged up into Roger's cheeks and his features sharpened. When
he finally spoke it was very slowly.

"I'll thank you to keep your mouth shut on matters that don't concern
you," he said icily.

Faxon's eyes gleamed angrily, and his lips parted; but he did not speak.
He passed his hand across his mouth and laughed nervously.

Baker put his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Let's see how the
cards are going, Roger...."

But Wynrod shook him off. "Would you mind beating it, John--just a
moment. I want to talk to Faxon--there's a good fellow--"

Baker surveyed the pair--and hesitated. Then, with a cold and meaning
glance at Faxon, he shrugged his shoulders and went out.

When the curtains had closed, Wynrod turned to Faxon. He drew in his
breath and his teeth clicked sharply.

"I may run the risk of breach of promise suits," he said, after a long
pause, "but I stay away from married women."

"Well, that's noble of you to be sure, but--what of it?"

"You don't."

Faxon's features tightened. "I'm afraid I don't understand...."

"That's a lie," said Wynrod in an ugly, deliberate way.

"Now see here...." Faxon tried to bluster, but it was