Their Game Of Hearts

THEIR GAME OF HEARTS

BY ELSIE CARMICHAEL

Copyright, 1903, by T. C. McClure

"I am awfully sorry," he said meekIy, but his eyes belied his wards. "I really wouldn't have come if I had known I had to inflict myself on you in this way." He offered his arm, looking at lier downcast, piquant little face with a world of pity in his eyes. "Don't take it so hard, dear," he whispered.

She raised her head and flashed him a defiant look. "You forget," she said icily. "Don't take advantage of our having to sit next one another through a long dinner to treat me so. I don't see what Mrs. Clarke was thinking of."

Don's eyes twinkled. "Well, really," he said, "I don't see that Mrs. Clarke can be blamed. How could she know that you had refused me last evening? If you don't want to talk to me you can talk to your other neighbor."

Nan looked at the fat, stupid old gentleman on her other side and made a little moue. "He is certainly the lesser of two evils," she said and turned her round white shoulder to Don.

The latter, with seeming eagerness, talked to a gay young widow on his other side, and Nan listened with wandering attention to the dissertation of the elderly gormand on the delights of pate de foie gras.

The conversation between the widow and Don waxed most frivolous. Nan felt the angry tears coming to her eyes. It was not fair to treat her so. Never since she had known him had he deliberately turned his back on her. Every one would notice it. She hated that widow.

"Ah, that will be glorious!" cried the latter. "Will you come for me at 3, and may I really drive those grays of yours all the way out to the club? I long to feel the reins in my hands I again. I haven't driven good horses for so long. Most people are afraid to let me try, but you know I can drive, don't you. Don? Do you remember long ago, in those good old days, how we used to go spinning out to the Country club and"- Then her voice dropped, and Nan heard no more.

Oh, if only Archie or Dick or Malcolm were next her, wouldn't she show Don how little she cared? But this stupid old Mr. Jones could hardly be induced to take his attention from his plate for a moment. She talked excitedly, the color mounted into her cheeks. and Don, who watched her surreptitiously, thought he had never seen her so charming. It was a bittersweet thing just to sit next her this way, even if she would not speak to him.

He listened only half mechanically to what Mrs. Wright was saying. His mind would wander back to that last evening when he had finished that delicious waltz with her and they had strolled into the conservatory. He could still hear the last strains of the music die away, sobbingly sweet. She was radiant in her filmy rose colored gown that he told her looked like a bit of sunset cloud. She had seemed happy and content until he had made the mistake of telling her he loved her, and then the whole radiant world was suddenly turned to cold gray tones, as when the evening colors in the sky fade into the twilight.

The hostess rose, and he stood back to let Nan pass. She had never a look for him, but chatted gayly with Madge Trelawney as they left the room. Then he threw himself back in his chair and smoked in silence, not listening to the talk about him.

When he strolled into the drawing room half an hour later Mrs. Clarke, who was near the door, held out a detaining hand. "I want you to take Nan into the library to play pingpong," she said.

"But perhaps she won't want to," objected Don. Mrs. Clarke looked at him shrewdly.

"Don't you think I know that you and Nan have quarreled?" she asked. "Am I blind? Be a good boy and make it up."

"I am willing enough to, Mrs. Clarke," he said so earnestly that his hostess felt as though he had taken her into his confidence and led him up to the low couch near the fire, where Nan was still talking to Madge Trelawney. The color had gone from her face now, and she looked tired and listless.

"Take Mr. Prentice into the library and make him play pingpong, Nan," begged Mrs. Clarke. "Things are going very dully tonight, and I want some one to start them up a bit."

Nan was surprised to find herself a moment later alone in the dimly lit library with Prentice. She had not intended to come. Now that she was there, however, she longed to sit down on the low seat before the flickering fire and have him tell her again how he loved her. If she could hear those words now she thought her answer would be different. He had taken her by surprise last night. He had taken her love too much for granted and hurt her pride. But all that was over. She dared not yield to the spell of the fire light. She picked up a racket and tried the delicate little celluloid ball on the table.

"Come on," she said. "We might as well play a set to please Mrs. Clarke." They played a game absent-mindedly. "Love one," he said when they had finished.

"But it isn't," pouted Nan. "It's no fun to play with you. You never keep score right. You won that game."

"Oh, dld I?" he inquired, "I am surprised. You always win."

"What?" asked Nan scornfully. "What game do I ever win, Don? I am stupid at most games, and you know it."

"Oh, hearts," he said.

"But this isn't hearts!" she cried, willfully misunderstanding him. "It's pingpong, and it isn't love one."

"But it always is for me," he said.  She went on playing and ignored the subject.

"I think this will probably be the last game we will have together for a long time," he said mournfully after they had played in silence for a few minutes.

Nan missed the ball. "Why?" she asked. The color left her face and then surged back again.

"I am going to start for South Africa next week," he said. "Some business interests call me there, and if all goes well I may decide to stay - forever."

Nan picked up the ball. "Oh!" she said after a moment. "South Africa must be - a- er- very interesting place, but rather- er-hot, is it not?"

"Yes," he said pensively. "It's a very unhealthy climate where I am going. Marsh fever, cholera- all those things kill people off rather fast."

He sent the ball back so wildly that it landed on top of the bookcase. "The game is mine," he said, throwing down his racket.

"But it isn"t," she said. "I won it fairly and squarely."

Her lips were trembling and there were bright tears in her eyes as she went over to the fireplace and looked down into the leaping flames. There was something so pathetic and lonely about the little figure in the fire light that he went to her quickly.

"Please say the game is mine," he begged and held out his hands. She swayed for a moment as though she would fall and then turned and put both her little hands in his.

"Well, yes," she said, smiling through her tears. "You have won, Don. Only please don't go to South Africa."