Only Cornelia felt the tense strain of it all. They could not sing always. Sometime it would have to stop, and what would happen then? The wonderful stranger could not always be expected to step in and pilot the little ship of the evening safely past all rocks. He had done wonders, and she would never cease to be grateful to him, but, oh, if he would go home at once as soon as they stopped singing, and not be there to witness further vulgarities! Grace Kendall, too. But then Grace understood somewhat. Grace was a minister’s daughter. What, oh, _what_ could they do next to suppress that awful girl? Cornelia’s head throbbed, and her face grew white and anxious. She cast an occasional glance at Carey who was singing away vigorously out of the same book with Grace Kendall, and wished she might weave a spell and waft all the rest of the guests away, leaving her brother to the influence of this sweet, natural girl. How could she manage to obviate another embarrassing situation? But it seemed as if the brain that had brought out so many lovely changes in a dismal old house, that had planned so carefully every detail of this evening and looked far ahead to results in the lives of her dear ones, had utterly refused to act any longer. Her nerve was shaken, and she could scarcely keep the tears back. Oh, if there were some one to help her! Then her heart took up its newly acquired habit, and cried out to God: “O God, send me help. What shall I do next?” As if young Maxwell read her thoughts, he turned at the close of the song, and, addressing them all promiscuously, said: “I guess we’re about sung out for a while, aren’t we? I’m hoarse as a fog-horn. Miss Dodd, why don’t you teach me how to play this game? I’ve been looking at it for quite a while, and it fascinates me. I believe I could beat you at it. Suppose we try.” Clytie giggled, quite flattered. It was a feather in her cap to have this handsome stranger paying her marked attention. His car was even finer than Brand Barlock’s. Not so sporty, perhaps, but much sweller. And the man was older, besides. It was something wonderful to have made a hit with him. She preened herself, still giggling, and sat down at the table, eying with indulgent curiosity the little board with its colored squares and bright carved men. “I d’no’z I know m’self,” she vouchsafed, glinting her beringed fingers among the bits of colored wood. “Whaddaya do, anyhow?” Cornelia, with a flush of gratitude in her face, gave a brief clew to the object of the game; and they were soon deep in the attempt to get their men each into the other’s territory first.