"Oh, astrology is out of date," Cobbens broke in, with an easy chuckle. "Isn't it, professor?"
"Yes," Leigh retorted, "but I believe politics is not."
The laughter with which this remark was greeted indicated the real tension that underlay all this appearance of good feeling.
"Politics is never out of date," Emmet declared, with grim emphasis, "as we mean to show you soon."
"Politics is like poker," Cobbens commented sententiously. "Just now we 're raising the ante, but presently there 'll be a show down, and may the best hand win."
"We ask nothing better," Emmet assured him, moving toward the stairs. "Good-night. I must be off."
"Wait a moment!" Miss Wycliffe called after him. "Here—take this candle to light your way, and may good luck go with it."
Emmet had already begun to descend the stairs when her voice arrested him. He turned as she approached, and because of his lower position her form hid him entirely from the view of the two men she had just left. Leigh saw the fur edge of her wrap standing out like a mist against the flaring light of the candle as she stooped to hand it down, and he thought she lingered longer than was absolutely necessary, as if to speak some parting words of encouragement. The impression that further words had passed between them was so disquieting, in view of his suspicion of Emmet's audacity, that he was fain to believe himself mistaken. It seemed that Cobbens also had lost nothing of this incident, for when she returned, he regarded her with as much disapproval as he dared to show.
"You 'll turn the poor beggar's head, Miss Wycliffe," he said. "It's a mistaken kindness. His fall will be all the greater for your whim."
"Sometimes beggars get on horseback," she retorted coolly, "and then they keep on riding."