"I like it well enough. That isn't the reason, though. You see, it locks, and after Corrie put it on my arm he kept the key. He says he will give it to me on my wedding day. But it isn't worth that."
"Worth——?" he questioned.
"Getting married. Will you play me even?"
"Pray fix any odds you choose, Miss Rose. How many points does Corrie usually give you?"
This time Isabel's stare of surprise was genuine.
"I meant, how many points should I allow you," she corrected arrogantly.
"Oh, pardon me!" he submitted. "Suppose, in that case, we play for an even score."
The storm did not abate. The wind drove the rain before it in glistening gray sheets, the steady drumming of the downpour accompanied the click of meeting ivory balls and the occasional speech of the players. After a time, a deep-belled Mission clock in the hall struck four.
A sharp, incredulous cry from the girl rang out, after an interval of silence in the room.