Quite humbly, hardly daring to believe in his good fortune, he left her,
and she wandered aimlessly over the grass towards the carp-pond. "Nasty,
slimy water," she said aloud, "you have lost me!"

Joyselle had stopped playing, and through the open windows only a very
subdued murmur of voices came. Even Bridge has its uses. The night was
perfect, and the serene moon sailed high under a scrap of cloud like a
wing. The old house, most beautiful, looked, among its surrounding
trees, secluded and protected.

"It looks like a home," thought the girl bitterly.

And then young Joyselle joined her.

"May I come? Shall I bother you?"

"You may come; and you never bother me."

His youthful face was pleasant to look at; the dominating expression of
it was one of sunny sweetness. Would Tommy grow to be as nice a young
man?

Tommy, that old person, was, she knew, perched astride a chair near the
Bridge table, picking up, with uncanny shrewdness, all sorts of tips
about the great game, as he picked up knowledge about everything that
came his way. Up to this, his varied stock of information had not hurt
him. Later--who could tell?

"Where is Tommy?" she asked miserably.