"Mellin,
you set there," he continued, pushing the young man into a seat opposite
Cooley. "We'll give both you young fellers a mascot." He turned to Lady
Mount-Rhyswicke, who had gone to the settee by the fire. "Madge, you
come and set by Mellin," he commanded jovially. "Maybe he'll forget you
ain't a widow again."
"I don't believe I care much about bein' anybody's mascot to-night," she
answered. There was a hint of anger in her tired monotone.
"What?" He turned from the table and walked over to the fireplace. "I
reckon I didn't understand you," he said quietly, almost gently. "You
better come, hadn't you?"
She met his inscrutable little eyes steadily. A faint redness slowly
revealed itself on her powdered cheeks; then she followed him back to
the table and took the place he had assigned to her at Mellin's elbow.
"I'll bank," said Pedlow, taking a chair between Cooley and the Italian,
"unless somebody wants to take it off my hands. Now, what are we
playing?"
"Pokah," responded Sneyd with mild sarcasm.
"Bravo!" cried Mellin. "That's _my_ game.
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