d, smartly.

"You should rejoice," she replied. "It's at once your liberty and your
protection. Think how safe you are!"

"I know, I know," he said. "All the slings and arrows of Miss Fortune
hurtling by."

"And you in no danger of being hurt."

He offered her his arm, and they strolled through a window onto a
veranda.

The day was just the least bit dull for Mrs. Dale. Bridge was in
progress in the card room, a company of women and girls gambling
feverishly. Eugene was not good at bridge, not quick enough mentally,
and Mrs. Dale did not care much for it.

"I have been trying to stir up enough interest to bring to pass a motor
ride, but it doesn't work," she said. "They all have the gambling fever
today. Are you as greedy as the others?"

"I'm greedy I assure you, but I can't play. The greediest thing I can do
is to stay away from the tables. I save most. That sharp Faraday has
cleaned me and two others out of four hundred dollars. It's astonishing
the way some people can play. They just look at the cards or make mystic
signs and the wretched things range themselves in serried ranks to suit
them. It's a crime. It ought to be a penitentiary offense, particularly
to beat me. I'm such an inoffensive specimen of the non-bridge playing
family."

"A burnt child, you know. Stay away. Let's sit here. They can't come out
here and rob you."

They sat down in green willow chairs, and after a time a servant offered
them coffee. Mrs. Dale accepted. They drifted conversationally from
bridge to characters in society--a certain climber by the name of
Bristow, a man who had made a fortune in trunks--and from him to travel
and from travel to Mrs. Dale's experiences with fortune hunters. The
automobile materialized through the intervention of others, but Eugene
found great satisfaction in this woman's company and sat beside her.
They talked books, art, magazines, the making of fortunes and
reputations. Because he was or seemed to be in a position to assist her
in a literary way she was particularly nice to him. When he was leaving
she asked, "Where are you in New York?"

"Riverside Drive is our present abode," he said.

"Why don't you bring Mrs. Witla and come down to see us some week-end? I
usually have a few people there, and the house is roomy. I'll name you a
special day if you wish."

"Do. We'll be delighted. Mrs. Witla will enjoy it, I'm sure."

Mrs. Dale wrote to Angela ten days later as to a particular date, and i