A number of bridge tables were produced, spread with white cloths, and arranged round the drawing-room, while an oak bench from the hall did duty as sideboard. It was like a dinner in a restaurant,--much better fun than sitting round an ordinary table, and everyone was so amused and excited that the evening went with a roar. When the dessert stage was reached, two of the men volunteered for rescue service, shed their coats in the hall, and extricated the most promising dishes, the contents of which, having been carefully cleansed, were welcomed with loud cheers by the rest of the party. "I never," concluded Miss Hunter gleefully, "was so rowdy in my life!" "Fancy having enough spoons and forks to go round a second time!" was the Chumley maiden's practical comment. After a moment's pause, she asked eagerly: "And was Captain Peignton very attentive to Teresa?" "He was not sitting at the same table." Miss Hunter, paused in her turn, and added in a reflective voice: "I don't remember seeing him speak to her the whole evening." In truth Dane was not a demonstrative lover. The fact was patent to Teresa herself, and in the depths of her heart she acknowledged a lack. Her own nature was not demonstrative; with her own family her manner was indifferent almost to callousness, but with Dane she felt capable of a great tenderness. She wished that he would be more tender to her; that when they were alone together his manner of affectionate raillery would change to something deeper. She wished above all things that he would speak of his love. Mary's questionings on the night of her sister's betrothal had had something to do with awakening this longing, for when Teresa came to think over what had passed, it seemed as if most of the protestations had been made by herself. He had asked if _she_ cared, had kissed her and vowed to be true, but neither then or at any subsequent meeting had he lost his head, and said all the dear, mad, exaggerated sweetnesses which were the language of lovers. Teresa had never before had a lover, but something in her blood, an instinct stronger than theory, told her that such exaggerations were not the creations of fiction, but that they existed in very truth, and to both speaker and hearer should appear the most precious of truths. It was in her heart to lavish such protestations on Dane; to tell him of the days when she had longed to touch his lean, brown hands, to lean her head against the rough frieze of his coat, to tell him how she had loved him, how she had longed for him, how she had prayed to be made good for his sake. If she had given way to the impulse, Dane's heart would have opened in its turn, since there are few men callous enough to remain unaffected by the love of a girl who is young, and fresh, and agreeable to the eye; but Teresa's strong sense of propriety forbade her to offer more than she received, and she sternly repressed the impulse to be