"Who is Herr Tiger?" asked the Captain.
"A big Livonian blood-hound of mine, and my most intimate friend, with the exception of Father Francis here."
"Birds of a feather," said the young priest. "Not that I class myself with Doctors and blood-hounds. You should have allowed Tiger to give those fellows a lesson they would remember, Danton. Their drunken insolence is growing unbearable."
Dinner went on and ended. The ladies left the dining-room; the gentlemen lingered, but not long.
Kate was at the piano entrancing Eeny, and Grace sat at her crochet. Miss Danton got up and made tea, and the young Doctor lay back in an arm-chair talking to Eeny, and watched, with half-closed eyes, the delicate hands floating deftly along the fragile china cups.
"Give us some music, Kate," her father said, when it was over. "Grace, put away your knitting, and be my partner in a game of whist. Father Francis and the Doctor will stand no chance against us."
The quartet sat down. Kate's hands flew up and down the shining octaves of her piano, and filled the room with heavenly harmony, the waves of music that ebbed, and flowed, and fascinated. She played until the card party broke up, and then she wheeled round on her stool.
"Who are the victors?" she asked.
"We are," said the Doctor. "When I make up my mind to win, I always win. The victory rests solely with me."
"I'll vouch for your skill in cheating," said Grace. "Father Francis, I am surprised that you countenance such dishonest proceedings."