e saw defeat imminent, could
at least make his own effort to avert it. After all his misgivings as
regarded Stanmore, it seemed that he had been mistaken, and that Lord
Bearwarden was the rival he ought to dread. In any case but his own,
Mr. Ryfe was a man of the world, quite shrewd enough to have reasoned
that in this duality of admirers there was encouragement and hope. But
Tom had lost his heart, such as it was; and his head, though of much
better material, had naturally gone with it. Like other gamblers, he
determined to follow his ill-luck to the utmost, bring matters to a
crisis, and so know the worst. In all graver affairs of life, it is
doubtless good sense to look a difficulty in the face; but in the
amusements of love and play practised hands leave a considerable
margin for that uncertainty which constitutes the very essence of both
pastimes; and this is why, perhaps, the man in earnest has the worst
chance of winning at either game.

So Tom Ryfe turned back into the crowd, and waited his opportunity for
a few minutes' conversation with Miss Bruce.

It came at last. She had danced through several engagements, the night
was waning, and a few carriages had already been called up. Maud
occupied the extreme end of a bench, from which a party of ladies had
just risen to go away: she had declined to dance, and for the moment
was alone. Tom slipped into the vacant seat by her side, and thus
cut her off from the whole surrounding world. A waltz requiring much
terrific accompaniment of brass instruments pealed out its deafening
strains within ten feet of them, and in no desert island could there
have been less likelihood that their conversation would be overheard.

Miss Bruce looked very happy, and in thorough good-humour. Tom Ryfe
opened the trenches quietly enough.

"You haven't danced with me the whole evening," said he, with only
rather a bitter inflection of voice.

"You never asked me," was the natural rejoinder.

"And I'm not going to ask you, now," proceeded Mr. Ryfe; "you and I,
Miss Bruce, have something more than a mere dancing acquaintance, I
think."

An impatient movement, a slight curl of the lip, was the only answer.

"You may drop an acquaintance when you are tired of him, or a friend
when he gets troublesome. It's done every day. It's very easy, Miss
Bruce."

He spoke in a tone of irony that roused her.

"Not so easy," she answered, with tightening lips, "when people have
no tact--when the