He was seriously enamoured of his "new point," and was still expatiating on it when they heard Carew unlocking the street-door. It was a man much of the woman's own age who came in. His face was clean-shaven, and his hair was worn a trifle longer than the hair of most men. Now that he was seen in a good light, it was plain that he was disturbed; but he shook Dolliver by the hand as if relieved to find him there. "What, not had supper? You must be starving, Mary?" "I _am_ pretty hungry," she admitted; "aren't you?" "Well, I've had something--still, I'll come to the table." She had looked disappointed, and he drew his chair up. "Dolliver?" "Nothing for me, thanks. Oh! a glass of beer--I don't object to that." Despite her assertion, Mary made no great progress with her supper, and Carew's evident disquietude even damped the garrulity of the boy. It was not until the Bowmans arrived and a game of napoleon had been begun, that the faint restraint caused by his manner wore away. Mr. Bowman, mindful of his wife's injunction, had provided himself with several shillings'-worth of coppers, and, profiting by his forethought, each of the party started with a rouleau of pence. These occasional card parties after the performance had become an institution in "The Foibles of Fashion" company, and it was seldom that anyone found them expensive. Mary's capital, coppers included, was half a sovereign, and to have won or lost such a sum as that at a sitting would have been the subject of allusion for a month. To-night, however, the luck was curiously unequal, and, to the surprise of all, Dolliver found himself losing seven shillings before he had been playing half an hour. Much sympathy was expressed for Dolliver. "Never mind, dear boy; it's always a mistake to win early in the evening," said Carew. "There's plenty of time. I pass!" "Pass," said the "Duchess." Mary called three, and made them. "How do you stand, Mrs. Carew?" asked Bowman. "I'm just about the same as when we began. Tony, Mr. Bowman has nothing to drink.--Oh, what a shame, Dolliver!--thanks! Fill up your own, won't you?--He's a perfect martyr, this boy," she went on; "he cleared the table before you two people came in--didn't you?" "Four!" cried Dolliver. "Yes; I cleared it beautifully. Utility is my line of business." "Since when? I thought just now----" "Oh, confidences, Mrs. Carew!" He turned scarlet. "Don't give me away!... Now, Mrs. Bowman, which is it to be?" She played trumps, and led with a king. A breathless moment, crowned by an unsuspected "little one" from Dolliver. His "four" were safe, and he leant back radiant. The "Duchess" prepared to deal. "Who's got an address for the next town?" she inquired. "Haven't you written yet?"