aid, and oddly enough he
didn't.

Lydia was delighted with O'Bannon's challenging tone.

"I wish you were," she said, "because I know you would turn out to be
just like everyone else. Or even if you are a superman, Mr. O'Bannon,
you couldn't be sure all your underlings were equally noble."

"What you mean is that you habitually bribe customs inspectors."

"No," said Lydia, as one surprised at her own moderation--"no, I don't,
for I never much mind paying duty; but if I did mind--well, I must own I
have bribed other officers of the law with very satisfactory results."

O'Bannon, looking at her under the shades, thought--and perhaps conveyed
his thought to her--that she could bribe him very easily with something
more desirable than gold. It was Gore who began carefully to point out
to her the risk run by the taker of the bribe.

"You did not think of him, my dear young lady."

"Yes, I did," answered Lydia. "He wanted the money and I wanted the
freedom. It was nice for both of us." She glanced at O'Bannon, who was
talking to Mrs. Piers as if Lydia didn't exist. She felt no hesitation
in interrupting.

"You couldn't put me in prison for that, could you, Mr. O'Bannon?"

"No, I'm afraid not," said O'Bannon, and turned back to Fanny Piers.

After dinner she told Eleanor in strict confidence the story of the
bicycle policeman, and made her promise not to tell O'Bannon.

"I shouldn't dream of telling anyone," said Eleanor with her humorous
lift of the eyebrows. "I think it's a perfectly disgusting story and
represents you at your worst."

When they sat down to bridge Lydia drew O'Bannon, and whatever
antagonism had flashed out between them at dinner disappeared in a
perfectly adjusted partnership. They found they played very much the
same sort of game; they understood one another's makes and leads, and
knew as if by magic the cards that the other held. It seemed as if they
could not mistake each other. They were both courageous players, ready
to take a chance, without overbidding. They knew when to be silent, and,
with an occasional bad hand, to wait. But the bad hands were few. They
had the luck not only of holding high cards but of holding cards which
invariably supported each other. Their eyes met when they had
triumphantly doubled their opponents' bids; they smiled at each other
when they had won a slam by a subtle finesse or by patiently forcing
discards. Their winnings were large. Lydia seemed as steady as a