"It's our custom," Mrs. Gosnold smiled serenely. "You haven't conscientious scruples about playing for money, I hope?" "Oh, no; but"--Sally couldn't, simply couldn't confess her penniless condition before Miss Pride and Mr. Trego--"but I didn't understand." "That's all right," Trego insisted. "You won it fairly, and it wasn't all beginners' luck, either. It was good playing; some of your inferences were as sound as any I ever noticed." "It really doesn't seem right," Sally demurred. None the less she could not well refuse the money. "I must have my revenge!" Miss Pride announced briskly, that expression being sanctioned by convention. "To-night, dear Abigail? Or would you like another rubber now?" Mrs. Gosnold shook her head and laughed. "No, thank you; I've had enough for one afternoon, and I'm sleepy besides." She thrust back her chair and rose. "If you haven't tried the view from the terrace, Miss Manwaring, I'm sure you'll find it worth while. And let your ill-gotten gains rest lightly on your conscience; put them in the war-chest against the rainy day that's sure to dawn for even the best players. I myself play a rather conservative game, you'll find, but there are times when for days on end I can't seem to get a hand much better than a yarborough." "Do you," Sally faltered, timidly appreciating the impertinence, "do you lose very much?" "I? No fear!" Mrs. Gosnold laughed again. "It amuses me to keep a bridge account, and there's seldom a year when it fails to show a credit balance of at least a thousand." If Sally's bewilderment was only the deeper for this information, she was sensible enough to hold her tongue. Why need Mrs. Standish deliberately have uttered so monumental a falsehood about the losses of her aunt at cards? She might, of course, be simply and sincerely mistaken, misled by over-solicitude for a well-beloved kinswoman. On the other hand, the gesture of Adele Standish was not that of a woman easily deceived. Thus the puzzle swung full circle. "Mind if I show you the way, Miss Manwaring?" "Oh, no!" Sally started from her abstraction to find Trego had lingered, and, smiling, turned to the steps that led down to the terrace. "I'll be very glad . . ." But the truth was that she was not glad of this unsolicited company; she wanted uninterrupted opportunity to think things over; furthermore, she thought the sheer weight and masculine force of Trego's personality less ingratiating than another's--Savage's, for instance, however shallow, was all ways amusing--or Lyttleton's, with his flashing insouciant smile, his easy grace and utter repose of manner.