but would leave that to Avery. So she told of Eaton's reception at the country club, and of his taking part in the polo practice and playing badly; but of her own impression that Eaton knew the game and her present conviction that Donald Avery had seen even more than that, she said nothing. She watched her father's face, but she could see there no consciousness that she was omitting anything in her account.
An hour later, when after reading aloud to him for a time, he dismissed her, she hesitated before going.
"You've seen Donald?" she asked.
"Yes."
"What did he tell you?"
"The same as you have told, though not quite so fully."
She was outside the door and in the hall before realization came to her that her father's reply could mean only that Donald, like herself, had concealed his discovery of Eaton's ability to play polo. She turned back suddenly to return to her father; then again she hesitated, stopped with her hand upon the blind man's door by her recollection of Donald's enmity to Eaton. Why Donald had not told, she could not imagine; the only conclusion she could reach was that Donald's silence in some way menaced Eaton; for—suddenly now—it came to her what this must mean to Eaton. All that Eaton had been so careful to hide regarding himself and his connections must be obtainable by Avery now. Why Eaton had played at all; why he had been afraid to refuse the invitation to play, she could not know; but sympathy and fear for him swept over her, as she comprehended that it was to Avery the betrayal had been made and that Avery, for some purpose of
