she said coolly. "I've never seen any colour box
or easel in their outfit."

"Oh, he keeps his traps at Hurryon Lodge. He's made a lot of sketches. I
saw several at the Lodge. And he's doing a big canvas of Rosalie down
there, too."

"At Hurryon Lodge?"

"Yes. Miller lets them have the garret for a studio."

"I didn't know that," she said slowly.

"Didn't you? People are rather catty about it."

"Catty?"

Sheer surprise silenced her for a while, then hurt curiosity drove her
to questions; but little Bunbury didn't know much more about the matter,
merely shrugging his shoulders and saying: "It's casual but it's all
right."

Later the tennis players, sunburned and perspiring, came swinging up
from the courts on their way to the showers. Bunbury began to settle his
obligations; Naida and the Pink 'uns went indoors; Jack Dysart,
handsome, dishevelled, sat down beside Geraldine, fastening his sleeves.

"I lost twice twenty," he observed. "Bunny is in fifty, I believe. Duane
and Rosalie lose."

"Is that all you care about the game?" she asked with a note of contempt
in her voice.

"Oh, it's good for one's health," he said.

"So is confession, but there's no sport in it. Tell me, Mr. Dysart,
don't you play any game for it's own sake?"

"Two, mademoiselle," he said politely.

"What two?"

"Chess is one."

"What is the other?"

"Love," he replied, smiling at her so blandly that she laughed. Then she
thought of Rosalie, and it was on the tip of her tongue to say something
impudent. But "Do you do that game very well?" was all she said.

"Would you care to judge how well I do it?"

"As umpire? Yes, if you like."

He said: "We will umpire our own game, Miss Seagrave."

"Oh, we couldn't do that, could we? We couldn't play and umpire, too."
Suddenly the thought of Duane and Rosalie turned her bitter and she
said:

"We'll have two perfectly disinterested umpires. I choose your wife for
one. Whom do you choose?"

Over his handsome face the slightest muscular change passed, but far
from wincing he nodded coolly.

"One umpire is enough," he said. "When our game is well on you may ask
Rosalie to judge how well I've done it--if you care to."

The bright smile she wore changed. Her face was now only a lovely
dark-eyed mask, behind which her thoughts had suddenly begun
racing--wild little thoughts, all tumult and confusion, all trembling,
too, with some scarcely understood hurt lashing them to recklessness