“It is wearing, I must confess,” she answered.  “Yesterday I played poker until I didn’t know a blue chip from a white one, and she won the whole pot with two little bits of pairs while I was drawing to a king.  I begin to fear that my mind will give way.  And yet, I really don’t see how to stop.  She is so sick and tired of life here and she isn’t strong enough to go to town.”

“I know a very short way to put an end to everything,” said Jack.  “I see two ways in fact,—­one is to tell her the truth.”

“Oh, don’t do that,” cried his fiancee affrightedly.  “The shock would kill her outright.”

“The other way,—­” said Jack slowly, “would be for me to marry you and let her think that you are Janice in good earnest.”

“Oh, that wouldn’t do at all,” said the pretty widow.  “In the first place she would go crazy at the idea of her darling nephew’s marrying her maid,—­and in the second place—­”

“Well,—­in the second place?”

“I wouldn’t marry you,—­I said I wouldn’t and I won’t.  You’re too young.”

“But you’ve promised to marry me some day.”

“Yes, I know—­but not till—­not till—­”

“Not till when?”

“I haven’t just decided,” said Mrs. Rosscott, airily.  “Not for a good while, not until you seem to require marrying at my hands.”

“I never shall require marrying at anyone else’s hands,” the lover vowed, “but if you are so set about it as all that comes to, I shall not cut up rough for a while.  Aunt Mary is the main question just now—­not you.”

“I know,” said his lady in anything but a jealous tone, “and as she is the question, what are we to do?”

“You will go to bed,” he said, kissing her, “and I will go to think.”

“Can you see any way?” she asked anxiously.

Then he put his hands on either side of her face and turned it up to his own.

“You plotted once and overthrew my aunt,” he said.  “It’s my turn now.”

“Are you going to plot?”

“I’m going to try.”

“I’ll pray for your success,” she whispered.

“Pray for me,” he answered, and shortly after they had achieved the feat of saying good-night and parting once more, and the result of it all had been that Jack found himself tipping back and forth on the small chair, in the big room, at half-past midnight, puzzled, perturbed, and very much perplexed as to what to do first when the next morning should have become a settled fact.  He was not used to conspiring, and being only a man, he had not those curious instinctive gifts of inspiration and luminous conception which fairly radiate around the brain of clever womankind.

It was some time—­a very long time indeed—­before any light stole in upon his Stygian darkness, and then, when the light did come, it came in skyrocket guise, and had its share of cons attached to its very evident pros.

“But I don’t care,” he declared viciously, as he rose and began to undress; “something’s got to be done,—­some chances have got to be taken,—­as well that as anything else.  Perhaps better—­very likely better.”