"I wonder did she ever corner _him_?" was the question uppermost in
Gard's mind. He hated Mahr, and rather hoped that the lady had, then
flushed with resentment at the thought that she would stoop to blackmail
a man so obviously outside the pale. His mood was so unusual that every
man in the circle was stirred with unrest and misgiving. Dinner
brightened the general gloom, though there were but trifling inroads
into the costly vintages. One doesn't play bridge with the Big Ones
unless one's head is clear. Not till supper time did the talk drift from
honors and trumps. Gard played brilliantly. His absent-mindedness
changed to savage concentration. He played to win, and won.

"What's new in the art world?" inquired Denning, as he lit a cigar.
"There was a rumor you were after the Heim Vandyke."

"Nothing new," Gard answered. "Haven't had time to bother. By the way,
Mahr, what sort of a girl is the little débutante daughter of Mrs.
Marteen--you know her, don't you?" He was watching Mahr keenly, and
fancied he detected a shifty glance at the mention of the name. But Mahr
answered easily:

"Dorothy? She's the season's beauty--really a stunning-looking girl. You
must have seen her; she was in Denning's box with her mother at 'La
Bohème' last week."

"And," added Denning, "she'll be with us again to-morrow night."

"Oh," said Card, with indifference. "The dark one--I
remember--tall--yes, she's like her mother, devilish handsome. Must send
that child some flowers, I suppose."