he took the Major's arm, while I hurried to the card-room. As luck
would have it, the old lady was in the act of rising from the green
table, having just cut out from a rubber. Mr. Robbie was her partner;
and I saw (and blessed my star for the first time that night) the little
heap of silver, which told that she had been winning.

"Miss Gilchrist," I whispered, "Miss Flora is faint: the heat of the
room--"

"I've not observed it. The ventilation is considered pairfect."

"She wishes to be taken home."

With fine composure she counted back her money, piece by piece, into a
velvet reticule.

"Twelve and sixpence," she proclaimed. "Ye held good cards, Mr. Robbie.
Well, Mosha the Viscount, we'll go and see about it."

I led her to the tea-room: Mr. Robbie followed. Flora rested on a sofa
in a truly dismal state of collapse, while the Major fussed about her
with a cup of tea. "I have sent Ronald for the carriage," he announced.

"H'm," said Miss Gilchrist, eyeing him oddly. "Well, it's your risk.
Ye'd best hand me the teacup, and get our shawls from the lobby. You
have the tickets. Be ready for us at the top of the stairs."

No sooner was the Major gone than, keeping an eye on her niece, this
imperturbable lady stirred the tea and drank it down herself. As she
drained the cup--her back for the moment being turned on Mr. Robbie--I
was aware of a facial contortion. Was the tea (as children say) going
the wrong way?

No: I believe--aid me Apollo, and the Nine! I believe--though I have
never dared, and shall never dare to ask--that Miss Gilchrist was doing
her best to wink!

On the instant entered Master Ronald with word that the carriage was
ready. I slipped to the door and reconnoitred. The crowd was thick in
the ball-room; a dance in full swing; my cousin gambolling vivaciously,
and, for the moment, with his back to us. Flora leaned on Ronald, and,
skirting the wall, our party gained the great door and the vestibule,
where Chevenix stood with an armful of cloaks.

"You and Ronald can return and enjoy yourselves," said the old lady, "as
soon as ye've packed us off. Ye'll find a hackney coach, no doubt, to
bring ye home." Her eye rested on the two runners, who were putting
their heads together behind the Major. She turned on me with a stiff
curtsy. "Good-night, sir, and I am obliged for your services. Or
stay--you may see us to the carriage, if ye'll be so kind. Major, hand
Mr. What-d'ye-call some of your wraps."