She was finally reduced to playing piquet with Wickham, and though she won a good deal of money from him--more, that is, than he could comfortably afford to lose--she still counted the evening a failure, bad in the present, and extremely menacing to the future. For with her habitual mental candor, she admitted that by this time Christine, if not actually frozen to death--which after all one could not exactly hope--had probably won the game. The chances were that Riatt was captured. “What is the matter, Ned?” she said to her brother, as he fidgeted about the card-table, after a last futile expedition to the telephone. “Can’t you decide whether you’d rather the lady of your love were dead or subjected for twenty-four hours to the fascinations of an irresistible young man?” “What an interesting question that raises,” observed Wickham, examining rather ruefully the three meager cards he had drawn. “A modern Lady-or-the-Tiger idea. I am not of a jealous temperament and should always prefer to see a woman happy with another man.” “And often do, I dare say,” said Nancy. “I have a point of seven, and fourteen aces.” “I must own I can’t see Riatt’s irresistible quality,” said Hickson irritably. “Rich, nice looking and has his wits about him,” replied Mrs. Almar succinctly. “About as good-looking as a fence-rail.” “And they say women are envious!” exclaimed his sister. “Are you a feminist, Mrs. Almar?” inquired the irrepressible Wickham. “No, just a female, Mr. Wickham.” “I never thought a big bony nose made a man a beauty,” grumbled Hickson. “Ah, how much wisdom there is in that reply of yours, Mrs. Almar,” said Wickham. “Just a female. Your meaning is, if I interpret you rightly, that you are content with the duties and charms which Nature has bestowed upon your sex--” “Until I can get something better,” replied Nancy briskly, drawing the score toward her and beginning to add it up. “My idea is to let the other women do the fighting; if they win, I shall profit; if they lose, I’m no worse off. I believe I’ve rubiconed you again, Mr. Wickham.” “Well, I don’t understand women’s taste, anyhow,” said Hickson. “You never spoke a truer word than that, my dear,” said Nancy. “Seventy-four fifty, I think that makes it, Mr. Wickham, subtracting the dollar and a half you made on the first game. Oh, yes, a check will do perfectly. I’m less likely to lose it.” “I never had a worse run of luck,” observed Wickham with an attempt at indifference. Mrs. Almar stood up yawning. “Doubtless you are on the brink of a great amorous triumph,” she said languidly, and went off to bed. Hickson did not attempt to sleep. He sat up for the remainder of the night, in the hope that some sudden call might come, and at six o’clock as Ussher had told Christine, he was ready for new efforts.