When they were once more in the library, Colonel Ashley found himself with a long evening on his hands; his chum, Baynell, had fallen into one of his frequent fits of silent reflectiveness as he smoked, and Judge Roscoe, an ascetic, quiet, uncongenial old man, of opposite political convictions,—which placed an embargo on all the topics of the day,—did not seem to promise much in the way of lively companionship.
Mrs. Gwynn still lingered in the dining room, and the little "ladies" explained that her old nurse, who was now the cook, was afflicted with a "misery," seeming to bear some relation to neuralgia, and needed help to get through with her work, "Uncle Ephraim being a poor dependence" where the handling of crockery was concerned.
The "ladies," with true feminine coquetry, affected a shy reserve, and rather retreated from the expansive jovial bonhomie of Colonel Ashley's hearty advances toward them, albeit they were wont to press their attentions upon the inexpressive Captain Baynell. They met with fluttering downcast glances the engaging twinkle of Ashley's bright dark eyes. They replied with demure little clipped monosyllables to his gay sallies, and indeed Colonel Ashley bade fair to discharge the task of entertaining himself throughout the evening, till he luckily asked one of them what she liked best to play—graces or battledore and shuttlecock, Geraldine having brought in a grace-hoop and now holding it in her hands before her as she stood in the flicker of the fire.
"I like cards best," Adelaide volunteered unexpectedly.
"Have you a pack of cards? Then let's have a game!" Ashley cried gayly; "though I'm afraid you can beat me at anything I try."
There was a shrill jubilance of juvenile acclaim. The three, their ringlets waving, their cheeks flushing, the short skirts of their gay attire—blue, and crimson, and orange—fluttering joyfully, were instantly placing the chairs about the little card-table and climbing into them, while Colonel Ashley took the cards and dealt them with many airy fancy touches, to the amazement and admiration of the "ladies." With his versatile capacity for all sorts of enjoyment, the incident was beginning to have a certain zest for him, involving no sacrifice either of inclination or time. Baynell realized how Ashley also valued the pose. He had an intuitive perception of Ashley's own relish of its incongruity,—the gallant colonel of cavalry, who had successfully measured blades with the fiercest swordsmen and masters of fence, to be now lending himself gently to play with three little children, whose soft eyes glowed upon him with radiant admiration and tenderest confidence, while the firelight flared and flickered within and the storm raged without! Baynell knew that it was with an appreciated sacrifice of the perfect proportions of the situation that Ashley finally dealt cards for his friend and Judge Roscoe; he would have preferred to exclude them, if he might, and have the whole stage for the effects of his own dramatic personality. But never, in all his weavings of romance about himself, was Ashley guilty of even the slightest injustice or discourtesy or forgetfulness of the claims of others; hence his character was almost as fine and lovable as he feigned, or as it would have seemed, had but his foible of self-appreciation, self-gratulation, borne a juster proportion and been rendered less obvious by his own cheerful, unconscious, transparent candor. There was no guile in him, and the smile was quite genuine with which he took up his cards and affected to look anxiously through them to discern if Fate lurked therein in the presence of the Old Maid.
For it was this dread game that the "ladies" had chosen, and a serious affair it is when regarded from their standpoint. Ashley had now no need of his own sentiments or mental processes or artistic poses to minister to his entertainment. It was quite sufficient to watch the faces of the "ladies" as the "draw" went round, each player in turn taking at random an unseen card from the hand of the next neighbor to the left, the whole pack of course having been dealt. The heavy terror of doom was attendant upon the unwelcome pasteboard. Once, as this harbinger of Fate passed on, a gleeful squeal announced that a "lady" had escaped the anguish of the prospect of single blessedness.
"That's not fair, Ger'ldine!" exclaimed Adelaide, reprovingly; "you have told ever'body that Gran'pa has drawed the Old Maid!"
"I jus' couldn't help it—I was so glad she was gone," apologized the contrite Geraldine.
"It makes no difference, my precious, for I have two of the queens, and they are a pair," said Judge Roscoe, and as he threw the mates on the table the "ladies" placed their hands on their lips to stifle the aghast "Ohs!" and "Ahs!" that trembled on utterance, and gazed on their fellow-gamesters with great, excited, round eyes. For the crisis had supervened. Of course one of the queens had been withdrawn from the pack at the commencement of the game, in order to leave an odd queen as the Old Maid. Since two had just been discarded there remained the prophetic spinster, and each "lady's" delicate little fingers trembled on the "draw." Ashley could scarcely preserve a becoming gravity and inexpressiveness as the pleading beseeching eyes of his next neighbor were cast up to his countenance, seeking to read there some intimation of the character of the card she had selected. More than once the choice was precipitately abandoned at the last moment and another card snatched at hysteric haphazard. Then when an insignificant five of diamonds or three of spades was revealed,—what joy of relief, what deep-drawn sighs of relaxed tension, what activity of little slippered feet under the table, unable to be still, fairly dancing with pleasure that the Old Maid with her awful augury still held aloof and went the rounds elsewhere! Then—the eagerness of expectation and the renewed jeopardy of doubt.