One afternoon, as Joseline sat by her fire knitting a sock, with Rap, the criminal, luxuriously extended beside her, the door opened quickly, and Tito entered. She looked rather pale and agitated. Without preamble she came up to the hearthrug, spread out her hands before the blaze, and said—
“I’ve had an awful time!”
“How? Where? What is the matter?”
“I’ve been playing bridge since two o’clock, and my brain is buzzing. My partner was Colonel Wildairs, against Sir Harry and Gussie Tripp. She is a beast; she riles me! So hatefully sharp and on the make. The way she slaps down a good card, with a sort of jerk, is just maddening, even when I knew she had it all the time. She made me lose my temper, and what’s worse—my money. Joe, you will have to lend me thirty pounds?”
“Arrah! Is it for card-playing? Go on with ye!”
“It’s true. I’ve lost forty pounds.”
“The saints preserve us!”—lifting her hands and eyes in protest.
“Yes, it’s a fact. I went no trumps, and she redoubled: my partner had nothing, and I was weak in diamonds. She got in with her ace, and made the little slam. Colonel Wildairs was furious; he pays Sir Harry, and I pay her; she was so nasty about it, too. She said—‘Forty pounds, dear Tito! You should never double until you are more experienced. It is a shocking sum, but I won’t press you. Pay me next week.’ And of course, I’ll settle up this very night.”
“I don’t understand the quarter of what you are saying; only that you are short of money.”
“Yes. I’ve only ten pounds. I should hate Tony to think I was a defaulter, and she is so mean, and would talk at the Women’s Clubs, and say awful things of me.”