"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