"Bridge," said Spencer, shortly. He was already a bit in love with Stella Keane, but he was by no means favourably inclined to her gushing, elderly cousin. He soon formed a party of four, and became absorbed, for the moment, in the game. Tommy Esmond was playing the same game, at a table some distance from him. Tommy was not supposed to be wealthy, but he evidently had money enough to indulge in a quiet gamble now and then. He remembered every incident of that night. His partner was a subordinate member of the Government, and a good sound player, lacking a little perhaps in the qualities of initiative and rapid decision. His opponents were a young man in the Foreign Office, and a slender, hawk-nosed young woman of about thirty. All through he held abominable cards, but, truth to tell, he was not very interested in the game. Whether he won or lost a hundred pounds did not interest him very greatly. But what did interest him, to every fibre of his being, was that Stella Keane hovered about his table. His eyes continually sought hers, and she did not seem to avoid his glance. At times he was sure he could detect a slight smile of intimacy. After all, had he not rescued her, half dead with fright, in the dining-room of the "Excelsior?" Once she bent over him and whispered, her cool, fragrant breath fanning his cheek: "You are having shocking bad luck. You haven't held a single decent card." He whispered back: "What did I tell you a little time ago? I flatter myself I am a fairly good bridge-player, but what could one do with those cards of mine?" She fluttered away, with still the shadow of that intimate smile upon her beautiful mouth, the smile that seemed to say they had only known each other for a few hours, under romantic and dramatic circumstances, but there was between them an affinity of spirit. He played on steadily for over an hour, and then a halt was cried. The young gentleman from the Foreign Office and the hawk-nosed young woman had scored. Guy Spencer rose from the table, the poorer by a hundred and fifty pounds. He wrote his cheque with a light heart. A hundred and fifty pounds was not a great price to pay for the introduction to Stella Keane. Mrs L'Estrange came impressively towards him. "Oh, Mr Spencer, I hope you have not lost. If so, I fear you will never come near me again." His glance roved in the direction of Stella, talking, as it appeared earnestly, to that bounder of a cousin. There came a steely look into his clear, resolute eyes. "If you will allow me, I shall be delighted to come here often to see you and Miss Keane. I suppose I had better pick up my old friend Tommy Esmond, if he is not too engrossed." But when he approached Esmond, that little rotund gentleman waved him away, in most genial fashion. "Run away, dear boy. It is Eclipse first, and the rest nowhere. I am winning hands down." Certainly he bore the mien of a conqueror. And there, behind his chair, stood Stella Keane.