The twins and the pretty cousins had rioted into the billiard-room, and he regarded the emptied parlour blankly enough. He looked forward to his game of bridge, with old Mr. Valentine and his mother safely partnered, and Laura opposite himself—Laura of the intelligent questions when the round was over, accepting reproofs in a proper spirit—Laura, returner of leads and reserver of thirteenth cards—Laura, drilled out of all audacities, but so beautifully reliable, the perfect partner whom he could pride himself on having personally distilled from such raw ingredients as a dislike of being beaten and an early passion for _Happy Families_. It occasionally occurred to him to be surprised at the acquiescence of Mr. Valentine in an inferior partner, never dreaming that Laura playing bridge with Justin was a very different person from Laura playing bridge with Gran’papa or anybody else. How should Justin guess that she played her cards as a performing dog reads the alphabet, guided, for all her rapt air and business-like frown, by the innumerable hints her all-observant knowledge of him gave her. How should Justin realize that his left hand a-fiddle with his ear meant perplexity, or that the little push back in his chair, eyes on the ceiling and an imaginary fly was a sure sign to her that the game was in her hands? How should he know that his eyebrows lifted ever so faintly when he thought her reckless, and that for him to get up and knock out his pipe against the fire-place warned her against going spades when there were four aces in his hand? But Laura’s sixth or Justin-sense knew it and blessed the little tricks that helped her to give him a pleasant evening. It never occurred to her that she was cheating, and that Justin would have been horrified had he known. But she paid the price of her ill ways. She had not studied Gran’papa as she had studied Justin, and, dutifully playing double-dummy in the long winter evenings, she contrived without effort to make him feel unnecessarily sorry for Justin. Gran’papa, with his host and hostess and Aunt Adela in attendance, could dispense with his granddaughter, was mildly annoyed that Justin, fidgety fellow, must go in search of her and that Mrs. Cloud should suggest it. Mrs. Cloud had been pleasantly unable to imagine what was keeping Laura. She had gone up to Timothy, but that was half an hour ago. Justin might run up and see. Mrs. Cloud would set out the cards. Justin found the nursery door ajar and, as he pushed it open, the thin spear of light upon the floor widened and sharpened so that he could not see beyond it. He spoke into the darkness— “Laura?” “Yes.” “I say—isn’t he asleep yet?” “Of course. Fast. Don’t talk so loudly.” Her undertones were tense with triumph. “Why don’t you come down then? We’ve been waiting——”