"Not unless it interferes with Mr. Saltonstall's attention," said Chilian, then bit his lip. "Oh, I do not think it will;" smilingly. "You are very good to bother with a tyro. I'd like to be able to play a good game. Father is so fond of it, and Lynde seldom comes in nowadays--family cares;" laughingly. They led off very well. Saltonstall was wise enough to try his best, though out of one eye he watched the dainty fingers threading in and out among the colored beads, and could not help thinking he would rather be holding them and pressing kisses on the soft white hand. Then he made a wrong play. "We may as well turn back," said Mr. Leverett, "since the question at stake is not winning, but improving." "You are very good," returned the young man meekly. This time they went on a little further, but the result was the same. So with the third game. "Of course, I could let you win," Mr. Leverett began, "but that wouldn't conduce to the real science of the game which a good player desires. But you do very well for a young man. I should keep on, if I were you." "And annoy you with my shortcomings?" "Oh, it will not be annoyance, truly. Come in when you feel like it." "Thank you." Then he said good-night in a friendly, gentlemanly manner, and Cynthia rose and bowed. After that she gathered up her work and said good-night. Chilian sat and thought. Edward Saltonstall was a nice, steady young fellow; that is, he neither gamed, nor drank, nor went roystering round in the taverns jollying with the sailors, as some of the sons of really good families did. He would not have all his fortune to make, and his father's business was well established. The sons would take it. The two daughters were well married. What more could he ask for Cynthia? She was not so young now and would know her own mind. Yet it gave his heart a sharp, mysterious wrench, a longing for what he was putting away, the essence of the solemn ideals of love that run through the intricate meshes of the human soul. He knew that he loved her, that he wanted her for his very own, and his conscience told him it was not right. Of all her admirers he liked this one the best. Under other circumstances he would have considered him an admirable young man. Saltonstall dropped in now and then, not too often. He did not mean to startle any one with his purpose, but to let it grow gradually. Still, at the last assembly of the season, his attentions were somewhat pronounced. It was partly her doings, she was sheltering herself from other rather warm indications.