It was only a few days later that Aileen and Lynde met in the gold-room of the Richelieu. Strange to relate, for one determined to be indifferent she had spent much time in making a fetching toilet. It being February and chill with glittering snow on the ground, she had chosen a dark-green broadcloth gown, quite new, with lapis-lazuli buttons that worked a “Y” pattern across her bosom, a seal turban with an emerald plume which complemented a sealskin jacket with immense wrought silver buttons, and bronze shoes. To perfect it all, Aileen had fastened lapis-lazuli ear-rings of a small flower-form in her ears, and wore a plain, heavy gold bracelet. Lynde came up with a look of keen approval written on his handsome brown face. “Will you let me tell you how nice you look?” he said, sinking into the chair opposite. “You show beautiful taste in choosing the right colors. Your ear-rings go so well with your hair.” Although Aileen feared because of his desperateness, she was caught by his sleek force—that air of iron strength under a parlor mask. His long, brown, artistic hands, hard and muscular, indicated an idle force that might be used in many ways. They harmonized with his teeth and chin. “So you came, didn’t you?” he went on, looking at her steadily, while she fronted his gaze boldly for a moment, only to look evasively down. He still studied her carefully, looking at her chin and mouth and piquant nose. In her colorful cheeks and strong arms and shoulders, indicated by her well-tailored suit, he recognized the human vigor he most craved in a woman. By way of diversion he ordered an old-fashioned whisky cocktail, urging her to join him. Finding her obdurate, he drew from his pocket a little box. “We agreed when we played the other night on a memento, didn’t we?” he said. “A sort of souvenir? Guess?” Aileen looked at it a little nonplussed, recognizing the contents of the box to be jewelry. “Oh, you shouldn’t have done that,” she protested. “The understanding was that we were to win. You lost, and that ended the bargain. I should have shared the losses. I haven’t forgiven you for that yet, you know.” “How ungallant that would make me!” he said, smilingly, as he trifled with the long, thin, lacquered case. “You wouldn’t want to make me ungallant, would you? Be a good fellow—a good sport, as they say. Guess, and it’s yours.” Aileen pursed her lips at this ardent entreaty. “Oh, I don’t mind guessing,” she commented, superiorly, “though I sha’n’t take it. It might be a pin, it might be a set of ear-rings, it might be a bracelet—”