"At our house we make a point of playing for love," Mrs Ritchards announced. "My husband disapproves of anything in the nature of gambling. Of course, when one has young people coming in and out, there _is_ a responsibility. Personally I should object very strongly to taking another person's money. Don't you feel an awkwardness, Mrs Beverley--from your own guests?" "Not a bit. I love it!" declared Grizel naughtily. "But I hate to lose. I hope someone will be wicked enough to play for money with me. I suppose there _are_ some wicked people in the neighbourhood?" "They do at the Court. I go up there sometimes. Lady Cassandra loves bridge," Teresa said with a pride which overcame shyness. Was she not the only girl in Chumley who could boast of anything like intimacy with the big house? She watched her hostess' face for a brightening of interest, and felt aggrieved when it failed to appear. "That's good. I'm glad there's someone. I must ask her about it," said Grizel nonchalantly, taking a future acquaintance for granted with a calmness which at once irritated and impressed her hearer. At the bottom of her heart Teresa felt the birth of a jealous dread; and found herself hoping that Cassandra would not call, would at any rate delay doing so for months to come, as was her custom with Chumley acquaintances. And then once again the door was thrown open, and with an accent of satisfaction the parlourmaid announced--Lady Cassandra Raynor. She had come already! On the very first day on which Mrs Beverley was at home,--as quickly, as eagerly, as the humblest among them! Every woman in the room felt the same sense of amaze, the same rankling remembrance of the different manner in which she herself had been treated. Their eyes turned as on one pivot towards the door. Cassandra entered, a vision of delight in grey velvet and chinchilla furs, her face with its delicately vivid bloom half hidden by the latest eccentricity in hats. Her dress was very tight, her hat was very large; from an artistic point of view the lines of both were abominable, but Cassandra considered them ravishing, and, being one of the happy people who look well despite their clothes, succeeded in mesmerising her audience into a like belief. She advanced, walking with short, mincing footsteps, while her eyes swept the room. Grizel rose from the sofa to greet her, and a glance was exchanged between them, a swift, appraising glance. The lookers-on heard the exchange of a few society phrases, pronounced, it appeared to them, with an unnecessary amount of "gush," but in the moment in which the two hands clasped, and the hazel eyes looked into the blue, the two women realised that for them there need be no intermediate stage; they were not strangers, they were already friends.