er and forgotten day.

"Did you ever hear of Mr. John Parish, Sir?" she demanded.

The suave countenance before her was at first blank, then curious,
then intent. His mind was striving to summon up, from all its many
images, this one which was required. It was a brain which rarely
forgot, even though years had passed; and had it been able to
forget, so much had been the better for the plans of the gentleman
from Kentucky, and for the success of his proposed European mission.

At last, slowly, a faint flush passed over the face she was
regarding so intently. "Yes, I remember him very well," he
replied. "He has not for very many years, been in this country.
He died abroad, some years since. I presume you mean Mr. Parish of
New York--he is the only one I recall of that name at least. Yes;
I knew such a man."

"That was very long ago?"

"It was when I was much younger, my dear Countess."

"You knew him very well, then?"

"I may say that I did, Madam."

"And you'll tell me; then--tell me, was it true that once, as a
wild rumor had it, a rumor that I have heard--that once you two
played at cards--"

"Was that a crime?" he smiled.

"But with him, at cards with him, Mr. John Parish, a certain game
of cards with him--one day,--a certain winter day years ago, when
you both were younger--when the train was snowbound in the North?
And you played then, for what? What were the stakes then, in that
particular game with Mr. John Parish? Do you chance to recall?"

"Madam, you credit me with frankness. I will not claim even so
much. But since you have heard a rumor that died out long years
ago--which was denied--which even now I might better deny--since,
in fact you know the truth--why should I deny the truth?"

"Then you two played a game, at cards,--for a woman? And Mr.
Parish won? Was it not true?"

A new and different expression passed over the face of the
gentleman before her. Her chin still rested in her hand, her other
arm, long, round, white, lay out upon the table before him. He
could see straight into her wide eyes, see the heave of her throat
now under its shining circlet, see the color of her cheek, feel the
tenseness of all her mind and body as she questioned him about his
long forgotten past.

"Why do you ask me this?" he demanded at last. "What has that to
do with us? That was long ago. It is dead, it is forgotten. Why
rake up the folly of a deed of youth and recklessness, long years
de