“No, Charles,” said Hanson, “it’s clever but unprincipled, and always will be. Still, it’s always suggestive. Now let me see if I can’t wake up a little.”
“I say,” said Sir John bitterly from the card-table where he was playing a difficult hand, “is chess a game that requires so much conversation?”
“Sorry,” said Hanson.
“We’ve made papa quite cross,” said Lord Charles Baringstoke as he arranged the pieces. He was not allowed to win again that night.
Mast played very sober bridge with very bad luck. He could not hold a card.
“I’m a perfect Jonah to-night,” he said after his third rubber, as he paid his loss.
“Yes,” said Sir John, genially, as he gathered the money, “we shall have to throw you overboard. Come along now. We were very late last night. Bed’s not a bad idea.”
The Rev. Cyril Mast followed him meekly.
The King drove furiously, but Dr Pryce was not a nervous man. When they arrived at the King’s house, Lechworthy was pacing the verandah anxiously, awaiting them. Dr Pryce was presented to him, but very little was said, for the doctor wished to see his patient at once, and went off to her room.