“Weak and weak,” she announced in her gentle voice, as she cut her hostess for a partner; “I suppose we had better play only five shillings a hundred.”

Francesca wondered at the old woman’s moderate assessment of the stake, knowing her fondness for highish play and her usual good luck in card holding.

“I don’t mind what we play,” said Ada Spelvexit, with an incautious parade of elegant indifference; as a matter of fact she was inwardly relieved and rejoicing at the reasonable figure proposed by Lady Caroline, and she would certainly have demurred if a higher stake had been suggested.  She was not as a rule a successful player, and money lost at cards was always a poignant bereavement to her.

“Then as you don’t mind we’ll make it ten shillings a hundred,” said Lady Caroline, with the pleased chuckle of one who has spread a net in the sight of a bird and disproved the vanity of the proceeding.

It proved a tiresome ding-dong rubber, with the strength of the cards slightly on Francesca’s side, and the luck of the table going mostly the other way.  She was too keen a player not to feel a certain absorption in the game once it had started, but she was conscious to-day of a distracting interest that competed with the momentary importance of leads and discards and declarations.  The little accumulations of talk that were unpent during the dealing of the hands became as noteworthy to her alert attention as the play of the hands themselves.

“Yes, quite a small party this afternoon,” said Serena, in reply to a seemingly casual remark on Francesca’s part; “and two or three non-players, which is unusual on a Wednesday.  Canon Besomley was here just before you came; you know, the big preaching man.”

“I’ve been to hear him scold the human race once or twice,” said Francesca.

“A strong man with a wonderfully strong message,” said Ada Spelvexit, in an impressive and assertive tone.

“The sort of popular pulpiteer who spanks the vices of his age and lunches with them afterwards,” said Lady Caroline.

“Hardly a fair summary of the man and his work,” protested Ada.  “I’ve been to hear him many times when I’ve been depressed or discouraged, and I simply can’t tell you the impression his words leave—­”

“At least you can tell us what you intend to make trumps,” broke in Lady Caroline, gently.

“Diamonds,” pronounced Ada, after a rather flurried survey of her hand.

“Doubled,” said Lady Caroline, with increased gentleness, and a few minutes later she was pencilling an addition of twenty-four to her score.

“I stayed with his people down in Herefordshire last May,” said Ada, returning to the unfinished theme of the Canon; “such an exquisite rural retreat, and so restful and healing to the nerves.  Real country scenery; apple blossom everywhere.”

“Surely only on the apple trees,” said Lady Caroline.