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“Quite,” said Ann. She paused for a moment to be quite sure that her voice was steady. “I’m not going to try and thank you, Mrs. Ford, but I’m far more grateful to you than you’ll ever realize because I know the...the kindness that has prompted your invitation.”

“No kindness at all, my dear,” returned Mrs. Ford in a perfectly matter-of-fact tone. “I shouldn’t ask you if I didn’t want you. Do you play bridge?”

“Yes,” answered Ann.

“Fond of it? Would you like a game tonight?”

“Very much indeed, if you would.”

“Oh, I’m always ready for a game. We’re not really top-notchers, my husband and I, but we both play a fair game, and only sixpence a hundred. Hope you’re not too brilliant.”

Ann shook her head.

“I’m only moderately good.”

“I’ll secure a fourth, and I’ll collect the hat when I collect you. Good-by.”

With a swift smile she nodded, and was gone.

The fourth for bridge—Robin Ashby—was a plain young clerk from Ford’s office. But he was amusing and good-humored, and evidently a great favorite with his host and hostess. He came on to dinner from the tennis courts, where he had been playing a match, and was still in his flannels.

“I ought to have gone back to change,” he remarked, eyeing Ann in her white frock.

“Nonsense,” said Mrs. Ford. “I don’t want my cook to give notice because the dinner’s kept waiting. I’ve