ever can tell."

"Play," she defied.

Gerard glanced hopelessly at the streaming windows.

"It is growing late," he demurred.

"Not late, yet. Besides, we can't go out in that weather with an open
automobile. They know at home where we are."

They did; that was precisely the core of Gerard's exasperation and
unrest. What impressions would this tete-a-tete afternoon convey to
Corrie? And what would Flavia think of her guest's guardianship of her
cousin? He picked up his cue with enforced resignation.

The clock had struck the half-hour, when a long blast from an electric
horn pierced through the clamor of the storm.

"Another motor-party caught out," Isabel hazarded, her tone decidedly
cross. She was losing again, and she did not like the experience. "Your
play. You seem to find it more amusing to look out the window."

Gerard was spared reply. The billiard-room door was pushed open by the
Japanese steward and a figure in gleaming rain-proof attire appeared on
the threshold--the figure of a chauffeur, cap in hand.

"Lenoir!" Isabel exclaimed.

The chauffeur saluted.

"Mr. Rose sent the limousine to convey mademoiselle and Mr. Gerard," he
informed them, in his precise, Parisian-flavored English.

"My uncle is home?"

"I had just driven Mr. Rose home from the city, mademoiselle, before he
telephoned to the garage that I should come here."

She tossed her cue upon the table, recklessly scattering the balls, and
turned toward the door.

"Bring our wraps, Koma," she bade. "We had better go."

Gerard contemplated Lenoir with marked kindness.

"It's a bad day to be out," he commented, in following Isabel from the
room, and passed into the chauffeur's hand a gratuity out of all
proportion to the occasion.

"Yes, sir," said Lenoir, demurely.

The drive home was short and uninteresting. On the veranda of the Rose
villa Corrie was waiting to meet the returning two, upon the limousine's
arrival.

"Well, of all the slow traveling I ever saw, this is the limit," he
greeted them derisively; "From noon until five o'clock! Fancy!"

"Never mind our driving; we have had a fine time," Isabel retorted, with
pettish tartness.

"Yes, ma'am, no doubt. I wouldn't have interrupted, myself. It was
father who did it, when he came in. He said you'd want some dinner
to-night."

He smiled at Gerard as cordially as ever, but there was a wistfulness
underlying his expression that inspired the older man with a hearty
desire