wice in two whole years. It's cards, my dear. We are card
mad, the whole bunch of us, old and young, women and girls. Mrs. Leslie
and Anabel Colton are about the only exceptions, at least in our set.
But I fancy the whole town has got it. We play morning, noon, and
night--literally. Those who have no servants--and that question gets
worse instead of better--don't make their beds for days, and their
husbands get dinner at any old hour. Those who have a servant or two
belong to six clubs at least. I belong to every one of them, and two
meet in the morning."

It had been Isabel's turn to stare. The older people had always played
bezique or whist, but rather somnolently of an evening. She wondered if
the old gambling spirit had broken out again, and asked if they were
playing poker or monte. Miss Boutts looked at her with positive scorn.

"You girls that go to Europe and stay there too long get fearfully
behind things. Poker! Monte! We play bridge and five hundred." Then her
genuine affection for Isabel overcame her contempt. "We have spoken
often of asking you to join the clubs," she added, sweetly. "But there
isn't a vacancy at present."

"I couldn't think of it. Chickens and cards don't rhyme. What do you
play for--money?"

"No!" The scorn returned to her voice. "We are still too provincial for
that. San Francisco is ahead of us there. We don't even have real big
prizes--just a dinky little spoon sitting up on the mantel-piece to
excite us as if it was a tiara. I've won a whole bunch of them. They're
better than nothing and mean a lot of fun. I'm as proud as punch of
them."

"And the men?" asked Isabel. Did they play, too? Miss Boutts replied
that they were too busy in the daytime, but were asked once a week to a
"bang-up" affair. Their other evenings they spent at the lodges--"or any
old place," added Miss Boutts, who had no brothers, and a very busy
father. When Isabel asked her if she had not the natural yearning of her
age and sex for beaux, she shrugged her shoulders and replied:

"Rather. But where are you going to find them here? Pa won't live in the
city, and all the young men run away. Once in a while I visit in San
Francisco, and we go down to all the new plays, so I suppose I'll meet
my fate in time. Meanwhile, as there's nothing doing in that line here,
cards are a mighty fine substitute for beaux, and no mistake."

Isabel had been glad to be rid of her, and of her other old friends, who
did call in d