Mrs. V. I’m sure it was all owing to you.
Colonel G. It was all owing to the fall of the cards. I haven’t done anything.
Miss V. I’m sure we didn’t have anything on our side at all. I hate whist anyway; you have to be so quiet, and study on it so.
Mr. T. Yes, I think it’s awfully hard work.
Colonel G. Oh, you’ll have better luck next time. Good-by; don’t rise.
[And the Colonel goes to the club to relieve his mind by a quantity of vigorous expletives, and then to settle down to an evening of what he calls real whist.]