motive which had
so far actuated her on her course was temporarily laid aside and in its
stead came vague scenes of the future, when she should have learned how
to carry those marvelous creations with the trained ease and elegance
of Angelica, and was wholly transformed from the plain, awkward
creature of the Limasito days. Perhaps, when Kearn Thode came to New
York--

A sudden sound, subdued but unmistakably familiar, roused her from her
reverie. What could it mean? She sprang from her chair and stood
listening intently. The family were supposed to have gone to a
dinner-party, yet from somewhere above had come a chorus of male
laughter, and down the stairs to her opened door echoed the rattle and
clink of poker chips.

Willa crept out to the hall wistfully, drawn by the well-remembered
sound as by a magnet, and step by step ascended the stairs. A door at
the left was ajar and through it came a warm ray of light and the odor
of cigarettes.

"If that wasn't a hunch, I'll eat my shirt!" A buoyant voice exulted.
"Stuck two raises before the draw and then filled an inside straight!
What do you call it?"

"Lunacy, even if it did break for you," Vernon drawled. "You ought to
be shot at sunrise. No more post-mortems. Ante up there, Cal."

Willa tiptoed to the door and peered within. Vernon and four strange
young men were seated about a table in the center of the room, which
was evidently a den or study.

Vernon was dealing, and his neighbor at the left sat with his back
squarely to the door. Over his shoulder, Willa could see his cards as
he picked them up; an ace, king, ten, jack, and another king. He
refused to open, but the downy-mustached boy on his left, whose voice
Willa had first heard, performed that service. The other two strangers
stayed out, Vernon trailed and Willa eyed the slim, dark youth whose
hand she could see in fascinated suspense.

"Mine are punk." He yawned indifferently, and threw his cards down
upon the table.

The eavesdropper gasped, but watched with narrowed eyes as his tapering
fingers lingered, gathering up and sorting the discards with studied
listlessness.

The opener checked, the boy next raised him two and Vernon dropped.

"Brace of manicurists!" The first boy showed his openers ruefully.
"Couldn't better 'em. It's all yours, Art."

The dark youth shuffled the cards twice dexterously and dealt. This
time he held four kings and a seven.

"Go to it, Winnie," he s