If Tom were right in thinking he had closed the parlor door he was considerably surprised and flustered to find it ajar when he came down stairs. But Mrs. Porter was still reading the evening paper and did not look as if she had been disturbed by the telephoning. There was a slight flush on her cheeks, however, that he had not noticed before, but that may have been caused by the noble sacrifice of his own wishes for hers.
"I am glad, Tom, you told him you could not come," Mrs. Porter said, looking at him affectionately. "It is so good of you to give up to my little whims."
Tom said mentally: "I guess she did not hear it all, at least."
"I know," she went on, "that I was brought up on a narrow plane, and any sort of gambling seems wicked."
"But at first you would not play cards at all, and then you learned euchre. All games of cards look alike to me."
"I suppose they do, but euchre is a simple, interesting pastime; whist is a scientific—a—a—mental—exercise, developing the mind, and so forth, while poker cheats people out of their money,—at least, they lose money they ought to use other ways,—or else they win some and then have ill-gotten gains, which is worse."
"But poker is a great nerve developer," Tom protested feebly.
"But it's gambling."
"Well, how about playing euchre for a prize?"
"Oh we settled that a while ago," Mrs. Porter exclaimed. "I showed you the difference between the two, didn't I?"