And yet, he could not bring himself to believe that Miss Keane was an ill-natured girl, or of an unresponsive temperament. He had to admit that his impressions of his hostess were not too favourable.
She was outwardly genial, and at times gushing. Yet he fancied he could read behind this plausible exterior the signs of a hard, worldly nature. There was no softness in her glance, no tenderness in her rather hard, staccato tones.
A girl with those glorious eyes, and mobile face, with the delicate complexion that flushed and paled by turns, must surely be sweet and sympathetic, and responsive to affection. How her voice had thrilled with emotion when she thanked him. If she was disappointed in her cousin, it must be the fault of the elder woman, who could not give what was demanded by the younger and more ardent temperament.
He would have lingered longer, trying to pierce the riddle from these disjointed remarks, but they were interrupted by Tommy Esmond, who came bustling into the hall, flushed with victory.
"Never had such luck in my life. Just wiped the floor with them," he explained excitedly. "You left your good influence behind, Miss Keane. A few minutes sufficed for victory."
"I am very glad, but I think my powers for good must be very limited, for I brought bad luck to your friend," was her smiling rejoinder.
He turned briskly to the young man. "It is a perfect night, Spencer. Shall we walk down to the Club to get a breath of fresh air, and turn in there for a quiet smoke?"
Spencer nodded assent, and held out his hand to Miss Keane.
"Well, good-bye for the present."
"And I hope you will come and see us again soon. Don't wait for Mr. Esmond to bring you: after our thrilling experiences of tonight, we are more than ordinary acquaintances. We are at home nearly every night, if you want to gamble. And, if you would like a little rational chat instead, come in one afternoon to tea."