“I will delay no longer,” he finally murmured. “I’ll seek Inza, and come to an understanding with her.”
Then he went down-stairs, having first looked into the billiard-room, where Ready and Dashleigh were indulging in a game. In the library Browning was stretched on a Morris chair, reading a book. Through the house Frank searched, but he found nothing of Inza till, at last, he heard the crash of falling pins in the basement.
“They are bowling,” he said, and descended the stairs.
Dick and Inza were there. He had been instructing her in bowling, and neither of them heard Frank, who paused on the stairs.
“It was just too bad he beat you!” Inza was saying. “I don’t believe he could do it again.”
“I don’t know about that,” laughed the big fellow. “But I don’t think I ever wanted to win anything more in all my life than I did that string of candlepins.”
“Did you?” she murmured, idly marking on the score-board.
“I did!” he declared, getting close to her and watching her write. “And I’ve felt ever since that I was robbed of something.”
“Perhaps,” she murmured—“perhaps somebody else wished you to win.”
“You?” he breathed, all atremble—“did you wish that—Inza?”