In less than five minutes Vicky was back. "No, keep the hand," she said, as he rose. "I've played long enough. And supper will be ready shortly." "Finish the rubber,--I insist" Somers returned, and as he determinedly stood behind the chair, Vicky, perforce, sat down. He continued to stand behind her chair, watching her play. Vicky was too sure of her game to be rattled at his close scrutiny, but it seemed to me her shoulders shrugged a little impatiently, as he criticized or commended her plays. She had thrown a light scarf of gauze or tulle around when she was out of the room, and being the same color as her gown, it made her seem more than ever like an houri. She smiled up into Somers' face, and then, coyly, her long lashes fell on her pink cheeks. Evidently, she had concluded to bewitch the newcomer, and she was making good. I drew nearer, principally because I liked to look at her. She was a live wire to-night! She looked roguish, and she made most brilliant plays, tossing down her cards with gay little gestures, and doing trick shuffles with her twinkling fingers. "You could have had that last trick, if you'd played for it," Somers said, as the rubber finished. "I know it," Vicky conceded. "I saw, just too late, that I was getting the lead into the wrong hand." "Well, don't ever do that again," he said, lightly, "never again." As he said the last word, he laid his finger tips on her shoulder. It was the veriest touch, the shoulder was swathed in the transparent tulle, but still, it roused Vicky. She glanced up at him, and I looked at him, too. But Somers was not in flirtatious mood. He said, "I beg your pardon," in most correct fashion. Had he then, touched her inadvertently? It didn't seem so, but his speech assured it. Vicky jumped up from the table, and ignoring Somers, ran out to the hall, saying something about looking after the surprise for the supper. To my surprise, Somers followed her, not hastily, but rather deliberately, and, quelling an absurd impulse to go, too, I turned to Norman Steele, who stood near. "Who's this Somers?" I asked him, rather abruptly. "Is he all right?" "You bet," said Steele, smiling. "He's a top-notcher." "In what respects?" "Every and all." "You've known him long?" "Yes. I tell you Cal, he's all right. Forget it. What's the surprise for supper? Do you know?" "Of course not. It wouldn't be a surprise if we all knew of it." "Well, Vicky's surprises are always great fun. Why the grouch, old man? Can't you chirrup?" "Oh, I'm all right," and I felt annoyed that he read in my face that I was put out. But I didn't like the looks of Somers, and I couldn't say so to the man who had brought him there. "Oh, please! Oh, _please!_" shouted a hoarse, strange voice, and one scarcely to be heard above the hum of gay voices and peals of gay laughter, "oh, _somebody_, please!"