Mrs. Brande’s face fell. She sat crumbling her bread for some seconds, and then said absently, “Did you notice those monkeys on the way up?”
She had a peculiar habit of suddenly jumping from one topic to another, figuratively, at the opposite pole. She declared that her ideas travelled at times faster than her speech. Possibly she had her own consecutive, if rapid, train of thought, and may thus have connected Miss Paske with apes.
“Yes, swarms of those old grey fellows with black faces. I suppose they have a fair club at Shirani, and keep up the whist-room? Are there many men who play?”
“Only too many. I don’t approve of cards—at least gambling. I do love a game of whist—I play a half-anna stamp on the rubber, just to give it a little interest.”
“Do they play high at Shirani?” he asked with a touch of impatience.
“Yes, I believe they do; and that horrid old Colonel Sladen is the worst of all.”
“What! is he still up here? he used to play a first-class rubber.”
“He will play anything—high or low stakes—at either night or day—he pays—his wife pays,” concluded Mrs. Brande, looking quite ferocious.
“Oh, is she out again? Nice little woman.”
“Out again! She has never been home yet,” and she proceeded to detail that lady’s grievances, whilst her companion’s roving eyes settled on his cousin and Miss Gordon.