Luck bedeviled his honor; the fair Mrs. Lorrimore won steadily without the least respect for the law and no consideration at all for the sanctity of the bench; and the judge became peevish. He was a very rich man. Presently he had enough of it—letters to write for the morning mail—and got himself out and upstairs with the dignity of a fly-pestered ox. "Horrid old screw," observed Mrs. Lorrimore in Edgerton’s ear, and laughed her peculiarly sweet and captivating laugh as a servant returned with his honor’s check in an angrily scrawled envelope. Mrs. Rivett had passed into a farther room, where the high gilded pipes of an organ glimmered in the subdued light. Edgerton saw her seated there—a thin, bejeweled little figure beneath the tall gothic majesty of the pipes. After a while the low harmony of an old-time hymn stole into the card room. Those at the bridge tables remained silent and absorbed, except Mr. Rivett, who cautiously turned his sphinxlike countenance toward the farther dusk where his wife was seated. Edgerton stood behind Diana’s chair, watching. Presently he went over to Silvette, lingered for a while, then came back to Diana again. An hour later Mr. Rivett said abruptly: "Does anybody care to dance?" The effect was like a pistol shot on lotus eaters. Slowly the players came out of their absorption; color returned faintly to white, tense faces. "I suppose I may ask it?" added Mr. Rivett dryly. "I’m a heavy loser." "Sure thing, dad," said Jack with a laugh. "I’m about even, and I venture to ask it, too. _Does_ anybody here want to dance? You surely won’t object," he added mischievously to Silvette. "I have no right to say anything at all," she laughed. "Every right—the right of the conqueror! Accept my bow and spear—and speak! ... How is it with your sister?" "I’m afraid I haven’t any voice in the matter, either," said Diana serenely. "It is for the losers to decide." They decided to dance. Mrs. Rivett came from the dim music room and stood watching them with her little worn hands folded, while servants lighted and cleared the larger drawing-room, designed for a ballroom, with its little gilded balcony aloft and the great concert grand in its carved and gilded foliations sprawling like a bedizened elephant in the corner. A servant was sent for "mademoiselle"—evidently somebody who lived somewhere in the house whose duties included dance music. Meanwhile Edgerton sat down at the piano, and began a fascinating Spanish waltz. "Traitor," whispered a fresh, young voice at his elbow, and he looked up into the winning eyes of Diana. "Hello," he said; "how went the battle?" "The cards?" "Yes." "As usual, thank you." "Oh! And how do they usually go with you, fair cousin?" "Well enough," she said briefly. She stood leaning on the piano. "You play cleverly," she observed. "Oh, yes—cleverly. There’s nothing else to anything I do." "Isn’t that enough?" "_Is_ it, Diana?"