But Gerard was looking at the two spellbound. For Mr. Jones had had to turn his back to him in order to make his bow to the lady to whom he was thus presented. And Gerard, scarcely believing his eyes, stared at him from this new point of view, and felt more and more convinced that, though he had not recognized the dull, sheepish face, he knew the back view of Mr. Cecil Jones; and that he was no other than the young man who had beckoned Miss Davison out of the tea-shop, and who had accompanied her to and from the police-station, on the day of the shop-lifting incident at the stores. Gerard felt stupefied. What was going to happen? What were these two here for, pretending to be strangers to each other, and talking with the air of forced animation with which people do when they have been newly introduced? Gerard watched them furtively, and noted other strange things. It was not long after dinner when the card-playing began again, but Mr. Jones excused himself by saying that he really scarcely knew one card from another. There was much amusement at this, and Denver insisted that if he knew nothing about cards he must learn, and made him choose whether he would begin with baccarat, poker, or bridge. “Really,” protested the blushing young man, “it doesn’t much matter what I begin with, as I tell you I know nothing about any one of them.” However, they would take no denial, and the unhappy young man was thrust into a seat, forced to take the cards into his hands, and exhibited such dense ignorance of even the way to hold his cards that the Van Santens were secretly in fits of laughter at his expense, which they found it hard to hide. He obstructed the game by his foolish questions, betrayed his helplessness and incompetency at every move, and grew quite angry at his own ill-luck. “I’d always heard,” he protested ruefully, when he had lost a couple of sovereigns, the stakes having been lowered in deference to his incapacity, “that beginners generally win. I don’t seem to, though.” “You’re not venturesome enough,” said Miss Davison encouragingly. “You should play with a little more daring. Don’t be timid.” “Why don’t you take a hand yourself, to give him courage?” suggested Denver. “Not at poker. I don’t understand it,” said she. “Well, at anything you like. What do you know? Baccarat? Nap? I don’t care what it is as long as it’s cards,” said Denver. Miss Davison consented to sit down and make one at nap, and, to Gerard’s uneasiness, she won as much as the Van Santens did. But still Cecil Jones lost steadily, until he declared that he had no more money to play with. Miss Davison seemed quite delighted at her own luck, and gathered up her winnings in triumph. The others congratulated her, and Gerard watched her as she sailed out of the room and on to the terrace, with her winnings in her hands to show to Delia Van Santen.