t
by a blunder."

"Rule," observed Marion laconically. "'Ware barbed wire, if you want the
brush."

"I myself never was crazy for the brush," murmured Sylvia.

Grace whispered maliciously: "But you've got it, with the mask and
pads," and her mischievous head barely tipped backward in the direction
of Quarrier.

"Especially the mask," returned Sylvia, under her breath, and laid on
the table the last card of a Yarborough.

Plank scored without comment. Marion cut, and resumed her cigarette.
Sylvia dealt with that witchery of rounded wrists and slim fingers
fascinating to men and women alike. Then, cards en regle, passed the
make. Plank, cautiously consulting the score, made it spades, which
being doubled, Grace led a "singleton" ace, and Plank slapped down a
strong dummy and folded his great arms.

Toward midnight, Sylvia, absorbed in her dummy, fancied she heard the
electric bell ringing at the front door. Later, having barely made the
odd, she was turning to look at the major, when, beyond him, she saw
Leroy Mortimer enter the room, sullen, pasty-skinned, but perfectly
sober and well groomed.

"You are a trifle late," observed Sylvia carelessly. Grace Ferrall and
Marion ignored him. Plank bade him good evening in a low voice.

The people at the other table, having completed their rubber, looked
around at Mortimer in disagreeable surprise.

"I'll cut in, if you want me. If you don't, say so," observed Mortimer.

It was plain that they did not; so he settled himself in an arm-chair,
with an ugly glance at his wife and an insolent one at Quarrier; and the
game went on in silence; Leila and the major still losing heavily under
the sneering gaze of Mortimer.

At last, "Who's carrying you?" he broke out, exasperated; and in the
shocked silence Leila, very white, made a movement to rise, but Quarrier
laid his long fingers across her arm, pressing her backward.

"You don't know what you're saying," he remarked, looking coldly at
Mortimer.

Plank laid down his cards, rose, and walked over to Mortimer:

"May I have a word with you?" he asked bluntly.

"You may. And I'll help myself to a word or two with you," retorted
Mortimer, following Plank out of the room, down the stairs to the
lighted reception-room, where they wheeled, confronting one another.

"What is the matter?" demanded Plank. "At the club they told me you were
asleep in the card-room. I didn't tell Leila. What is wrong?"

"I'm--I'm dead broke,"