“I’d die first,” she answered; “bisques are the badge of advertised inferiority and a mark of the giver’s contempt.” “Stuff!” said Morris. “Stuff, indeed! As though it wasn’t bad enough to be beaten at all; but to be beaten with bisques!” “That’s another argument,” said Morris. “First you say you are too proud to accept them, and next that you won’t accept them because it is worse to be defeated with points than without them.” “Anyway, if you had the commonest feelings of humanity you wouldn’t beat me,” replied Mary, adroitly shifting her ground for the third time. “How can I help it if you won’t have the bisques?” “How? By pretending that you were doing your best, and letting me win all the same, of course; though if I caught you at it I should be furious. But what’s the use of trying to teach a blunt creature like you tact? My dear Morris, I assure you I do not believe that your efforts at deception would take in the simplest-minded cow. Why, even Dad sees through you, and the person who can’t impose upon my Dad——. Oh!” she added, suddenly, in a changed voice, “there is George coming through the gate. Something has happened to my father. Look at his face, Morris; look at his face!” In another moment the footman stood before them. “Please, miss, the master,” he began, and hesitated. “Not dead?” said Mary, in a slow, quiet voice. “Do not say that he is dead!” “No, miss, but he has had a stroke of the heart or something, and the doctor thought you had better be fetched, so I have brought the carriage.” “Come with me, Morris,” she said, as, dropping the croquet mallet, she flew rather than ran to the brougham. Ten minutes later they were at Seaview. In the hall they met Mr. Charters, the doctor. Why was he leaving? Because—— “No, no,” he said, answering their looks; “the danger is past. He seems almost as well as ever.” “Thank God!” stammered Mary. Then a thought struck her, and she looked up sharply and asked, “Will it come back again?” “Yes,” was his straightforward answer. “When?” “From time to time, at irregular periods. But in its fatal shape, as I hope, not for some years.” “The verdict might have been worse, dear,” said Morris. “Yes, yes, but to think that _it_ has passed so near to him, and he quite alone at the time. Morris,” she went on, turning to him with an energy that was almost fierce, “if you won’t have my father to live with us, I won’t marry you. Do you understand?” “Perfectly, dear, you leave no room for misconception. By all means let him live with us—if he can get on with my father,” he added meaningly.