determined to run it only if there should be absolutely no other card to play. Meanwhile she said: "Don't you see, now, how intelligent she is, in her quiet way, and how perfect she is at home--without any nonsense or affectation or ill-nature? She's not a bit stupid, she's remarkably clever. She can do a lot of things; she has no end of talents. Many girls with a quarter of her abilities would make five times the show." "My dear mother, she's a great swell, I freely admit it. She's far too good for me. What in the world puts it into your two heads that she would look at me?" At this Lady Greyswood was tempted to speak; but after an instant she said instead: "She _has_ looked at you, and you've seen how. You've seen her several times now, and she has been remarkably nice to you." "Nice? Ah, poor girl, she's frightened to death!" "Believe me--I read her," Lady Greyswood replied. "She knows she has money and she thinks I'm after it. She thinks I'm a ravening wolf and she's scared." "I happen to know as a fact that she's in love with you!" Before she could check herself Lady Greyswood had played her card, and though she held her breath a little after doing so she felt that it had been a good moment. "If I hadn't known it," she hastened further to declare, "I should never have said another word." Maurice burst out laughing--how in the world _did_ she know it? When she put the evidence before him she had the pleasure of seeing that he listened without irritation; and this emboldened her to say: "Don't you think you could _try_ to like her?" Maurice was lounging on a sofa opposite to her; jocose but embarrassed, he had thrown back his head, and while he stretched himself his eyes wandered over the upper expanse of the room. "It's very kind of her and of her mother, and I'm much obliged and all that, though a fellow feels rather an ass in talking about such a thing. Of course also I don't pretend--before such a proof of wisdom--that I think her in the least a fool. But, oh, dear----!" And the young man broke off with laughing impatience, as if he had too much to say. His mother waited an instant, then she uttered a persuasive, interrogative sound, and he went on: "It's only a pity she's so awful!" "So awful?" murmured Lady Greyswood. "Dear mother, she's about as ugly a woman as ever turned round on you. If there were only just a touch or two less of it!"