Maxwell was tactful. He managed to draw Louise and Brand Barlock into the game after a while; and, when they had grown tired of that, he led them into the dining-room, where Carey and Grace had just finished a game of ping-pong on the dining-room table, and insisted that they four play a set. Brand soon gave up his racket to Harry, and drifted into the other room; but it was half past ten when the others came back into the living room, where Grace Kendall was singing some Scotch songs, and sat down to listen. Cornelia looked at Clytie Dodd in surprise. All the boldness and impudence had melted out of her face, with much of the paint and powder that had been transferred to her handkerchief during the heated excitement of the game. Her hair had lost its tortured look, and her face was just that of an ordinary happy little girl who had been having a good, healthy time. She felt almost on an equality with the people around her because this nice man had been nice to her. She rather hated that yellow-haired girl in blue who had absorbed the attention of her own two special satellites, but what were they but kids beside this man of the world? She stole a look at his fine, strong face, and had perhaps a fleeting vision of what it might be to have a man friend such as he was; and who shall say but a fleeting revelation, too, of what a girl must be to have such a friend? She saw him look across the room to where his young hostess sat, and smile, a smile with a kind of mysterious light to it like signal-lights at sea. She looked curiously to where Carey’s sister sat, and saw with a startled new insight how young and really lovely this girl was; and she sat silent, a little wondering, in unwonted thoughtfulness. Grace Kendall finished her song, and suddenly whirled around on the piano-stool, and looked at her watch. “Oh, my dear!” she said, glancing up at Cornelia. “Do you see what time it is? And I have to be up at half past five tomorrow morning to get father’s breakfast before he goes to New York. I must say, ‘Good night,’ and hurry right home.” Both Carey and Brand rose, and hurried up to her in a confidential way. “I’ll take you—” began Carey. “My car is right at the door,” put in Brand dictatorially. “I’ll take you, of course.” Carey looked vexed, then met Brand’s eyes sheepishly. “Well, I’ll take her, and you can drive,” he said; and then suddenly they both looked at Clytie, and their tongues clove to the roofs of their mouths, for Clytie had risen with black brows, her sullen, defiant glance returning. Then Maxwell stepped forward as if he had heard nothing. “Miss Dodd, my car is here. I’ll be glad to see that you get safely home”; and Clytie’s face cleared. She sped upstairs to get her wraps.