"For you? Always!" And the two went to the cardroom. Pauline Stuart, tall, dark, graceful, was a striking-looking girl. Only twenty-four, she carried herself with the dignity and poise of a duchess, and her heavy, dark brows gave her face an expression of strength and will-power that contrasted forcibly with the delicate Dresden china beauty of Anita Frayne. The two girls were not especially friendly, though never definitely at odds. Anita was envious of the more fortunate Pauline. The latter, Miss Carrington's niece, would inherit a goodly part of her aunt's large fortune, while the humble position of the secretary commanded only a liberal, not munificent, salary. The girls, however, were at one in their dread of Miss Lucy's ebullitions of temper and their resentment of the biting sarcasms and angry diatribes she flung at them in her frequent spasms of fury. Illsley, a well-set-up chap of good address, followed Pauline into her aunt's presence. "You waited long enough," grumbled Miss Carrington. "Sit down. It's your deal now, Pauline." Matters went well for a time. Miss Lucy held good cards, and once or twice she triumphed through a mistake of her adversaries, which she fortunately did not discover was made on purpose. Count Charlier's little bright black eyes darted inquiringly from aunt to niece, but he made no comment. All four played well, and when at last Miss Carrington made a grand slam her joy was effervescent. "Good play," she flattered herself. "You must admit, Count, that it was clever of me to take that difficult _finesse_ just at that critical point." "Clever indeed, mademoiselle. You have the analytical mind; you should have been a diplomat. Also, Fortune favors you. You are beloved of the fickle goddess." "Let us hope so," and for a moment Miss Carrington looked grave. And then, with the perversity of that same goddess, the card luck changed. Pauline and Illsley held all the high cards, Miss Lucy and the Count only the low ones. Storm signals showed. Whiter grew the stern, set face; tighter drew the thin, wide lips; and rigid muscles set themselves in the angry, swelling throat. Then, as she scanned a hand of cards, all below the ten, again they went in a shower across the room, and she cried, angrily: "A Yarborough!" reverting to the old-fashioned term. "Never mind, Aunt Lucy," and Pauline tried to laugh it off; "this is not your lucky night. Let's give up bridge for to-night. Let's have some music." "Yes! because you love music and hate bridge! It makes no difference what _I_ want. My wishes are never considered. You and Anita are just alike! Selfish, ungrateful, caring for nothing but your own pleasure. Mr. Illsley, don't you think young girls should pay some slight attention to the wishes of one who does everything for them? Where would either of them be but for me? Are you not sorry for me?" "Why,--I--you must excuse me, I am not sure I understand----"