"Alarums without--and enter the king!" came a thick voice from the doorway, a voice that arrested Judith a second time and held her spellbound. She was already tingling with mortification. How dared her friends calmly analyse her and Roger in their own house, speculate on their private money matters, condescendingly, almost sneeringly foot up their account of good and bad? Then, even in the dark, she felt her cheeks grow hot. Was she herself much better than they, playing the eavesdropper on her own guests? Somehow, oddly, the thought flashed upon her that the quiet man upstairs would not have done so, that his code of ethics was a cleaner one than hers and that of her friends. But when she heard her brother's voice, with that telltale thickening in it, sheer dread of what he might do banished all thought of social niceties. Roger was not often like this, but when he was it meant trouble. "Hello, Roger." Faxon's manner underwent a subtle change. "Thought you were playin' bridge with the crowd." "Bridge? Me? Not on your life! I've cut that out. I'm sick of givin' the whole party, I am. I'm sick of bein' a Christmas-tree for blind babies. Put your han's in my pockets, boys. Ev'body's doin' it! No, sir, I've quit f' good. Where's the Scotch?" "Really, Roger," protested Baker somewhat anxiously, "don't you think you'd better...." "Jus' one toast," insisted Roger obstinately, "jus' one." He drew himself unsteadily erect. "I wanta drink--I wanta drink--to the mos' beautiful, mos' 'ttractive, mos' heartless...." As he raised the glass with a flourish, it slipped from his fingers and crashed on the table, its golden contents trickling over Baker's knees. There was momentary silence; then a single short laugh. It sobered Wynrod like a dash of cold water. "You think I'm funny?" he demanded. Faxon reddened. "Oh, come now, Roger, why so peevish? You've got things to be thankful about. I hear that Vera is leaving you, without even the threat of a breach of promise suit--" The blood surged up into Roger's cheeks and his features sharpened. When he finally spoke it was very slowly. "I'll thank you to keep your mouth shut on matters that don't concern you," he said icily. Faxon's eyes gleamed angrily, and his lips parted; but he did not speak. He passed his hand across his mouth and laughed nervously. Baker put his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Let's see how the cards are going, Roger...." But Wynrod shook him off. "Would you mind beating it, John--just a moment. I want to talk to Faxon--there's a good fellow--" Baker surveyed the pair--and hesitated. Then, with a cold and meaning glance at Faxon, he shrugged his shoulders and went out. When the curtains had closed, Wynrod turned to Faxon. He drew in his breath and his teeth clicked sharply. "I may run the risk of breach of promise suits," he said, after a long pause, "but I stay away from married women." "Well, that's noble of you to be sure, but--what of it?" "You don't."