"Oh, ye gods!" ejaculated her listener. "Fancy a girl marrying for a widow's pension. Twenty-first cousin, how can you suggest such a thing?"
"You may well ask! I have a darling little daughter of my own, asleep in her cot upstairs; sooner than she should make such a match, I'd—well, I adore Babs, and Mrs. Miller has never attempted to conceal her aversion to Barbie!"
At this moment Mrs. Villars turned to claim her partner.
"I do hope you play bridge?" she murmured in her sweet contralto.
"Oh, yes, rather; but I'm a bit out of practice."
"We are sure to have bridge to-night, and if so, do come to my table, and if you are very rusty, I won't scold you—much." As she gazed at him, with an expression at once cajoling and caressing, Mallender, stirred by the enchantment of her plaintive voice and marvellous eyes, promptly answered:
"All right, Mrs. Villars, I'll play at your table—even if to reach it I have to trample on the slain."
"Ah, I see that we shall be great friends," she continued, "we are both fond of travelling, and devotees of bridge and golf. Don't you think when people like the same things—they like one another?"
"I am sure of it," he answered with emphasis.
"I see Fan has collected eyes," exclaimed Mrs. Villars, rising as she spoke. "Au revoir, and mind you don't forget about the bridge," she added with a confidential smile.