play,
she let it be known.

Josiah was angry with himself and deeply humiliated. He apologized as
well as he could, but to no purpose with the wrathful dame.

And Theodora slipped behind his chair, and laid her hand upon his
shoulder in what was almost a caress, and said, in a sweet and playful
voice:

"You are a naughty, stupid fellow, Josiah, and of course you must pay
the losses of both sides to make up for being such a wicked thing," and
she patted his shoulders and smiled her gentle smile at the angry lady,
as though they were children playing for counters or sweets, and the
twenty pounds was a nothing to her husband, as indeed it was not.
Josiah would cheerfully have paid a hundred to finish the unpleasant
scene.

He was intensely grateful to her--grateful for her thought for him and
for her public caress.

And the lady was so surprised at the turn affairs had taken that she
said no more, and, allowing him to pay without too great protest, meekly
suggested another rubber. But Josiah was not to be caught again. He
rose, and, saying good-night, followed his wife and Lord Bracondale into
the saloon.

XXV

After the rain and gloom of the week, Sunday dawned gloriously fine.
There was to be a polo match on Monday in the park, which contained an
excellent ground--Patrick and his Oxford friends against a scratch team.
The neighborhood would watch them with interest. But the Sunday was for
rest and peace, so all the morning the company played croquet, or lay
about in hammocks, and more than half of them again began bridge in the
great Egyptian tent which served as an out-door lounge on the lawn. It
was reached from the western side down wide steps from the terrace, and
beautiful rose gardens stretched away beyond.

Theodora had spent a sleepless night. There was no more illusion left to
her on the subject of her feelings. She knew that each day, each hour,
she was growing more deeply to love Hector Bracondale. He absorbed her
thoughts, he dominated her imagination. He seemed to mean the only thing
in life. The situation was impossible, and must end in some way. How
could she face the long months with Josiah down at their new home, with
the feverish hopes and fears of meetings! It was too cruel, too
terrible; and she could not lead such a life. She had thought in Paris
it would be possible, and even afford a certain amount of quiet
happiness, if they could be strong enough to remain just friends. But
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