He continued to stand behind her chair, watching her play. Vicky was
too sure of her game to be rattled at his close scrutiny, but it
seemed to me her shoulders shrugged a little impatiently, as he
criticized or commended her plays.

She had thrown a light scarf of gauze or tulle around when she was out
of the room, and being the same color as her gown, it made her seem
more than ever like an houri. She smiled up into Somers' face, and
then, coyly, her long lashes fell on her pink cheeks. Evidently, she
had concluded to bewitch the newcomer, and she was making good.

I drew nearer, principally because I liked to look at her. She was a
live wire to-night! She looked roguish, and she made most brilliant
plays, tossing down her cards with gay little gestures, and doing
trick shuffles with her twinkling fingers.

"You could have had that last trick, if you'd played for it," Somers
said, as the rubber finished.

"I know it," Vicky conceded. "I saw, just too late, that I was getting
the lead into the wrong hand."

"Well, don't ever do that again," he said, lightly, "never again."

As he said the last word, he laid his finger tips on her shoulder. It
was the veriest touch, the shoulder was swathed in the transparent
tulle, but still, it roused Vicky. She glanced up at him, and I looked
at him, too. But Somers was not in flirtatious mood. He said, "I beg
your pardon," in most correct fashion. Had he then, touched her
inadvertently? It didn't seem so, but his speech assured it.