dered from the job in hand. She admired him for his concentration,
yet would she have been less than woman had she not felt slighted by it.
He might have given her one look!

Adela was full of enthusiasm for his opponent, and that also caused her
a vague sense of irritation. She was beginning to feel as if the evening
would never come to an end.

The scoring was by no means slow, however, and the general interest
increased almost to fever pitch as the finish came in sight. Hill's
steady progress in the wake of his opponent seemed at length to
disconcert the latter. He began to play wildly, to attempt impossible
things. His supporters remonstrated without result. He seemed to have
flung away his judgment.

Hill's score mounted till it reached and passed his. They were within
twenty points of the end when Warden suddenly missed an easy stroke. A
noisy groan broke from the onlookers, at which he shrugged his shoulders
and laughed. But Hill turned upon him with a stern reproof.

"You're playing the fool, Warden," he said. "Pull up!"

He spoke with curt command, and the man he addressed looked at him for a
second with raised brows, as if he would take offence. But in a moment he
laughed again.

"You haven't beaten me yet, sir," he said.

"No," said Hill. "And I don't value--an easy victory."

There followed a tense silence while he resumed his play. Steadily his
score mounted, and it seemed to Dot that there was hostility in the very
atmosphere. She wondered what would happen if he scored the hundred
before his opponent had another chance. She hoped he would not do so,
and yet she did not want to see him beaten.

He did not, but he left off with only three points to make. Then Warden
began to score. Stroke after stroke he executed with flawless accuracy
and with scarcely a pause, moving to and fro about the table without
lifting his eyes from the balls. His play was swift and unswerving, his
score mounted rapidly.

Dot watched him spellbound, not breathing. Hill stood near her, also
closely watching, with brows slightly drawn. Suddenly something impelled
her to look beyond the man at the table, and in the shadow on the farther
side of the room she again saw Harley's face, grey, withered-looking,
with sunken eyes that glared forth wolfishly. He was glancing ceaselessly
from Hill to Warden and from Warden to Hill, and the malice of his glance
shocked her inexpressibly. She had never before seen murderous hate so
st