"We play four annas a hundred, we used to play only for love—but love is so stupid!"
"Tar, I'm surprised at you! Is that your opinion?" shouted her brother, who had overheard this speech.
"Now, Tom," said she, blushing deeply, "do not mind us—please attend to your company, or—I will talk to you about Miss M."
This threat had the immediate effect of silencing Tom, who sat upon his hands,—a trick of his, and looked excessively sheepish and out of countenance.
Tara's command might well have been addressed to the Misses Beaufort, whose eyes were fixed on the young lady and her partner, with long looks of unrestrained interest, and low be it spoken—envy.
Bridge, at Wellunga, was played with impressive gravity, and not a little ignorance; here, there was no joking, no scolding, no glances of interrogative dismay. The only thing that upset the composure of the players was, when an enormous black, able-bodied insect, came booming in from outside, and endeavoured to dash itself against the candle shades.
"If my ayah were here," screamed Blanche, whose attention was almost entirely given to this quartette, "she would say that was the spirit of one who had lived in this bungalow long ago——"
"I'm glad to say your ayah is not here!" retorted Tara, turning her head, and speaking with indignation, "we don't entertain the sweeper caste!" and poor Blanche was once more temporarily quenched.
At the end of an hour, Tara and Geoffrey rose, the losers of one rupee. The beautiful and imperious Tara was distinctly ruffled; she liked and always expected to be victorious, and first.
"Here, Jessie," she said to her sister, with a lofty air, "I give you the price of two fine fowls. Well, you must make the most of your gambling time, for when you are married to Samuel, you won't even see a card!"