most men play like that. It's we
women who cheat and carry spare aces and revoke when the game's going
against us." Then came her amazing burst of frankness, "Like you did
when, to suit your own purpose, you pretended that we were on the point
of becoming engaged. Like I did when I told that story just now about
Steely Jack. And again like you've done all along in your dealings with
Adair. Why, even now, when you're ready to give him up, you can't play
the cards that are on the table; you have to try to borrow Lord Taborley
from me. Don't get angry. I'm not accusing you especially. We women are
all the same; there's not one of us who can stick to the rules of the
game." Her glance shifted to Tabs. "You used to think that I was the
exception. You see, I'm not. The wonder is that men can even pretend to
respect us."

Long after she had finished and the conversation had taken a new turn,
she went on gazing at him, raising and lowering her eyes as she ate her
lunch, begging him to understand.

"You're wrong, Terry." In her capacity as hostess, Maisie was making an
attempt to get away from personalities. She was too convicted by what
had been said to consider it wise to defend herself. "You're wrong. Men
don't want to respect us. They love us for having faults that they
wouldn't tolerate in themselves. They encourage us to cultivate them. It
flatters their integrity to discover our dishonesties. They like to
believe that we're cowards. They don't expect us to tell the truth. They
almost resent our having a sense of honor. The woman who cheats at every
turn and then cries in their arms when she's found out, is the kind of
woman who always has a man to take care of her. Look at my sister, Lady
Dawn. She's never been known to cry. She's missed everything in life
through being almost repellently honorable."

In the discussion that followed Tabs took no part, though he was often
appealed to for an opinion. As he listened to their modulated flow of
voices, their refined and gentle intonations, their evasive, slyly
uttered words, he began to have an understanding of what was taking
place. It was something primitive--the oldest of all battles. Neither
of them wanted him, but each was prompted to covet the pretense of his
possession. Their hunting instincts were aroused. He had taken on a
sudden value in their eyes because each had discovered that the other
was in pursuit of him.

His thoughts went back to Lady Dawn--to her pale