“But why should we want to be sure? Since we are already sure of death? Look at Dounia, there. She has never done a risky thing in her life. Run over her investments. Burton, Klein, La Soule--all good gold bonds. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, my dear. You remind me of Markand’s uptown relations.” “And what are you crowing about?” Dounia retorted. “You’re as safe as an eel.” “I have at least the good manners to be ashamed of it,” Tom laughed. “To hide it and even lie about it. I am gaining strength.” He looked admiringly at Korn. “Here, old man, I drink to the logic--to the beauty of your life!” He held forth his wine glass. Korn raised his to his eyes, nodded and sipped. Tom drained. “Did you get that, Davie?” he said. “The contempt Korn showed in answering my toast? I do not blame him. I’ve never earned his respect. Think how he must despise _you_!” Korn did not turn his head. Lunn grunted and smirked--in his plate. Dounia and Phoebe came to David’s rescue. From Dounia: “I am sure Mr. Markand is br-raver, much b-raver than you!” From Phoebe: “Jack, deny that you despise Mr. Markand.” Tom drove ahead. “But I’ll earn your respect yet, Jack Korn. I may be earning it now....” Christian Hill was nudging Miss Gross. “He’s a wonder, is Rennard. You must get him. The other man, the one in the black suit, Madeline, _he_--he is----” Hill whispered in the young girl’s ear. Her fork clattered: her little eyes lost their dim cunning: became bright and large. “Really?” she gasped. She gazed at Korn and was speechless. Her hand went to the old bead bag in her lap. Talk like a comet drew to the head of Tom and Korn. They held it: they swung it: it was a dazzle of gyre to the jerk of their directions. At the farther end of the table, Signora Sanni came and went: sat imperturbable. She was a woman of more than forty. Disillusion was sweet in her firm, strong face. It was a preservative. It did not keep her pretty, it kept her content. Her features had set. It was as if they had thrown away their woman’s tricks of blandishment and surprise: as if they had sold their power to impassion at the price of passion itself. At her side were Lagora and Lettie Dew. These three alone were intact from the ebullient pull of the other end of the table. Lagora was incapable of an objective interest. He ate seriously, he spoke to Signora Sanni, he nagged Lettie. The eyes of Miss Dew wandered from their circuit between her plate and the ceiling, to David. For a moment, their gaze softened; something swam in her eyes, something stirred like a cloud’s rift in her mind. With a violent gust of smoke--for she smoked incessantly--she blew it away. “But I maintain,” Tom said, “that the law makes the game all the more delicious. The more rules, the more brains to overturn them.” Korn smiled and nodded: “Goethe put it--‘In der Beschraenkung zeigt sich erst der Meister.’” “What does that mean?” Tom was held up. “Just about what you are saying,” replied Korn.