se to offer except"--with a small _gamin_ smile--"that I
was otherwise occupied!"

"If the occupation was a matter of toilette, we'll excuse you," observed
St. John, surveying her with the usual masculine approbation of a white
frock defined with touches of black. "The time wasn't wasted."

Nan slipped her arm affectionately into his.

"Oh, _why_ aren't you forty years younger and someone else's uncle?
You'd be such a charming young man!" she exclaimed.

St. John smiled.

"I was, my dear--forty years ago." And he sighed.

During the next half hour the remainder of the guests came dropping in by
twos and threes, and after a little desultory conversation everyone
settled down to the serious business of bridge. Now and then those who
were not playing ventured a subdued murmur of talk amongst themselves,
but for the most part the silence of the room was only broken by voices
declaring trumps in a rapidly ascending scale of values, and then, after
a hectic interval, by the same voices calling out the score in varying
degrees of satisfaction or otherwise.

Nan, as a rule, played a good game, but to-day her play was nervous and
erratic, and Mallory, her partner of the moment, instinctively connected
this with the agitation she had shown on receiving the wire. Ignorant of
its contents, he awaited developments.

He had not very long to wait. Shortly afterwards the trill of the
door-bell pealed through the flat, followed by a sound of footsteps in
the hall, and, a minute later, Maryon Rooke came into the room. A brief
stir succeeded his entrance, as Penelope and one or two other non-players
exchanged greetings with him. Then he crossed over to where Nan was
playing. She was acutely conscious of his tall, loose-limbed figure as
he threaded his way carefully between the tables.

"Gambling as usual?" he queried, when he had shaken hands. "And
winning--also as usual--I suppose?"

"On the contrary," she retorted. "I've just thrown away a perfectly good
trick. Your arrival distracted my attention."

Oddly enough, she had complete control of her voice, although her play
and the slight trembling of her fingers as she held her cards fan-wise
were sufficient indication to Mallory of the deep waters that had been
stirred beneath the surface.

"I'm sorry my return has proved so--inopportune," returned Rooke. As he
spoke his eyes rested for a reflective moment upon Peter Mallory, then
returned challengingly to Nan's