shot with judgment, taking no chances for a brilliant
performance which might endanger his respectable average. As for the
Page boys, they kept the river ducks stirring whenever Eileen Shannon
and Rena Bonnesdel could be persuaded to share the canoes with them.
Otherwise they haunted the vicinity of those bored maidens, suffering
snubs sorrowfully, but persistently faithful. They were a great nuisance
in the evening, especially as their sister did not permit them to lose
more than ten dollars a day at cards.

Cards--that is Bridge and Preference--ruled as usual; and the latter
game being faster suited Mortimer and Ferrall, but did not aid Siward
toward recouping his Bridge losses.

Noticing this, late in the week, Major Belwether kindly suggested
Klondyke for Siward's benefit, which proved more quickly disastrous to
him than anything yet proposed; and he went back to Bridge, preferring
rather to "carry" Agatha Caithness at intervals than crumble into
bankruptcy under the sheer deadly hazard of Klondyke.

Two matters occupied him; since "cup day" he had never had another
opportunity to see Sylvia Landis alone; that was the first matter. He
had touched neither wine nor spirits nor malt since the night Ferrall
had found him prone, sprawling in a stupor on his disordered bed. That
was the second matter, and it occupied him, at times required all
his attention, particularly when the physical desire for it set in,
steadily, mercilessly, mounting inexorably like a tide. ... But, like
the tide, it ebbed at last, particularly when a sleepless night had
exhausted him.

He had gone back to his shooting again after a cool review of the
ethics involved. It even amused him to think that the whimsical
sermon delivered him by a girl who had cleverness enough to marry
many millions, with Quarrier thrown in, could have so moved him to
sentimentality. He had ceded the big cup of antique silver to Quarrier,
too--a matter which troubled him little, however, as in the irritation
of the reaction he had been shooting with the brilliancy of a demon; and
the gun-room books were open to any doubting guests' inspection.

Time, therefore, was never heavy on his hands, save when the tide
threatened--when at night he stirred and awoke, conscious of its
crawling advance, aware of its steady mounting menace. Moments at
table, when the aroma of wine made him catch his breath, moments in
the gun-room redolent of spicy spirits; a maddening volatile