He had staked on the last deal of the cards. The costly lunch, the private room, the wine, the flowers ... his own youth ... thrown down with a gambler's hand. But to the woman sitting there no such sordid picture rose. She was lost in a glory that dazzled her--this wonderful new gift of love! Tears stole into her eyes over the bent head pressed to her hands--the thick, fair hair with its youthful gloss, the supple shoulders that breathed of strength. Could she--dare she live out the dream? For she knew, at last, that she loved Stephen; that this Indian Summer of life could be hers, a swift thrusting away of age. No more need she face the lonely years. Jill would marry. Roddy go forth to fight his battle with the world--to disappoint her cherished hopes. What was left her? The tears ran down. "Stephen..." He raised his eyes to hers, bewildered himself by his own emotion. "I know----" a sudden despair gripped him. "Your children?" He watched her moodily, trying to define her thoughts. Then, as across some silent pool, a mischievous breeze sends an answering ripple, he saw a wave of resentment pass over her tense and delicate face. "Jill!" The name slipped from her lips. The old rancour against the child who had outgrown her, forming views on life apart from the mother's standard and held to them, strong, rebellious, rose up, flooding her with a painful sense of helplessness. She did not see that her Suffrage work had interfered with that of her home, that her own involuntary neglect of her children had sapped her influence. "I should not ask for _Jill's_ advice!--What does she ever care for mine? She will go her own way--to the end!--And so shall I."--Her voice rang with a new imperious note. Stephen saw he had gained the day. "Mary!"--his arms were around her. "You will...? You _do_ ... care a little?" Triumph flamed in his face but the fond woman saw only love. "Wait----" she drew back, timid again. "I must think first. It's too serious. I can't answer you like this..." But the man held her still closer. "You can--you _shall_!" He knew his power--"I want you. You shan't go from here--except as my promised wife! It's either _that_--or good-bye." He felt her quiver at the word. "I can't stand it any more--this playing at friendship--it's not fair! Say you love me--say it, Mary?" There came a desperate little pause. Mrs. Uniacke felt the room spinning round before her eyes. In a mist she saw her lover's face, heard the ardent, pleading voice... And the sense of a dream returned to her--a dream too sweet to relinquish. She must not--_could_ not wake again! With a stifled cry she kissed Stephen. CHAPTER XXIX McTaggart, when he left the Leasons, broke his long journey home by a week's stay at North Berwick with a college friend, addicted to golf. From thence he drifted down to Rugby, visiting his old school with the somewhat wistful pleasure that lies in conjuring up boyhood's days.