to Lady Poynter; if I play bridge, I shall lose a lot of money to
Gaymer--not that I don't play quite a fair game, but I'm sure, without
even seeing him, that he plays a diabolically good game and I know I
shall cut against him. Mrs. Shelley? Every one's always a success with
her; talking to her is as demoralizing as cracking jokes from the Bench.
Mrs. O'Rane wants me to write her a duologue--just as one draws a rabbit
for a child . . . . That only leaves you. And you capitulated more
completely even than Poynter, without the '63 port as an introduction
and bond."

Barbara looked at him with a dawning smile.

"I _think_ you're the most insufferably conceited young man I've ever
met!" she exclaimed.

"I'm adjusting the balance. If you hadn't disparaged me the whole way
through dinner. . . . Now, when you got up here, you pumped Mrs. Shelley
with both hands for everything you could get her to tell you about me.
Didn't you?"

"Well?"

Eric smiled to himself.

"She's the only one here who knows me, but she didn't tell you much."

"I shan't say."

Three impatient voices from the bridge-table met and struggled in an
unmelodious chorus of "_Babs!_ Come--here!"

She returned a moment later, but had hardly sat down before Gaymer
spread out the substantial remains of his hand with a challenge of "Any
one anything to say about the rest? Babs, don't keep us waiting
_again_!"

As she stood up, Eric rose, too, and said good-bye.

"I have some work to finish before I go to bed," he told her.

"Won't you wait and see me home? Sonia O'Rane's got a brougham, and
we'll borrow it first."

Eric laughed and shrugged his shoulders.

"Certainly, if you wish it."

"You're not very gracious," she pouted.

"It was so transparent. You could go with Mrs. O'Rane. Or Gaymer would
be delighted to find you a taxi. Or you could go on foot."

She drew herself up to her full height.

"Instead of which I humiliated myself by asking a small thing which was
just big enough to give you the opportunity of being rude."

She turned away to the table, but stopped at the sound of laughter from
Eric. He had hesitated a moment before taking the risk, but laughter
seemed the only corrective for her theatrical dignity.

"I spend hours each day watching people rehearsing this sort of thing,"
he murmured.

"Why do you _imagine_ I ask you to see me home?" she demanded, with a
petulant stamp.

"Partly because you're enjoying me; partly becau