She was evidently on fire for this new excitement, and Fletcher Hill,
seeing that Dot meant what she said, led the way without further
discussion. He paused outside the billiard-room door, which stood ajar;
for a tense silence reigned. But it was broken in a moment by the sharp
clash of the balls and a perfect howl of enthusiasm from the spectators.

"Oh, it's over!" exclaimed Adela. "What a pity! Never mind! Let's go in!
Perhaps they'll play again."

The barmaid came flying out to fetch drinks as they entered. The
atmosphere of the room was thick with smoke. A babel of voices filled it.
Men who had been sitting round the walls were grouped about the table. In
the midst of them stood the victor in his shirt-sleeves, conspicuous in
the crowd by reason of his great height--a splendid figure of manhood
with a careless freedom of bearing that was in its way superb.

He was turned away from the door at their entrance, and Dot saw only
a massive head of straw-coloured hair above a neck that was burnt
brick-red. Then, laughing at some joke, he wheeled round again to the
table; and she saw his face....

It was the face of a Viking, deeply sunburnt, vividly alive. A fair
moustache covered his upper lip, and below it the teeth gleamed, white
and regular like the teeth of an animal in the wilderness. He had that
indescribable look of morning-time, of youth at its best, which only
springs in the wild. His eyes were intensely blue. They gazed straight
across at her with startling directness.

And suddenly Dot's heart gave a great jerk, and stood still. It was not