"Well, then, what is he looking sideways for?" cried Florinda. Wrinkles reached for his guitar, and played a serenade, "The silver moon is shining----" "Dry up!" said Pennoyer. Then Florinda cried again, "What does he look sideways for?" Pennoyer and Grief giggled at the imperturbable Hawker, who destroyed rarebit in silence. "It's you, is it, Billie?" said Sanderson. "You are in this two-violet business?" "I don't know what they're talking about," replied Hawker. "Don't you, honestly?" asked Florinda. "Well, only a little." "There!" said Florinda, nodding again. "I knew he was in it." "He isn't in it at all," said Pennoyer and Grief. Later, when the cigarettes had become exhausted, Hawker volunteered to go after a further supply, and as he arose, a question seemed to come to the edge of Florinda's lips and pend there. The moment that the door was closed upon him she demanded, "What is that about the two violets?" "Nothing at all," answered Pennoyer, apparently much aggrieved. He sat back with an air of being a fortress of reticence. "Oh, go on--tell me! Penny, I think you are very mean.--Grief, you tell me!" "The silver moon is shining; Oh, come, my love, to me! My heart----" "Be still, Wrinkles, will you?--What was it, Grief? Oh, go ahead and tell me!" "What do you want to know for?" cried Grief, vastly exasperated. "You've got more blamed curiosity---- It isn't anything at all, I keep saying to you." "Well, I know it is," said Florinda sullenly, "or you would tell me." When Hawker brought the cigarettes, Florinda smoked one, and then announced, "Well, I must go now." "Who is going to take you home, Splutter?" "Oh, anyone," replied Florinda. "I tell you what," said Grief, "we'll throw some poker hands, and the one who wins will have the distinguished honour of conveying Miss Splutter to her home and mother." Pennoyer and Wrinkles speedily routed the dishes to one end of the table. Grief's fingers spun the halves of a pack of cards together with the pleased eagerness of a good player. The faces grew solemn with the gambling solemnity. "Now, you Indians," said Grief, dealing, "a draw, you understand, and then a show-down." Florinda leaned forward in her chair until it was poised on two legs. The cards of Purple Sanderson and of Hawker were faced toward her. Sanderson was gravely regarding two pair--aces and queens. Hawker scanned a little pair of sevens. "They draw, don't they?" she said to Grief. "Certainly," said Grief. "How many, Wrink?" "Four," replied Wrinkles, plaintively. "Gimme three," said Pennoyer. "Gimme one," said Sanderson. "Gimme three," said Hawker. When he picked up his hand again Florinda's chair was tilted perilously. She saw another seven added to the little pair. Sanderson's draw had not assisted him. "Same to the dealer," said Grief. "What you got, Wrink?" "Nothing," said Wrinkles, exhibiting it face upward on the table. "Good-bye, Florinda."