Beautiful! The word was poor, tame, commonplace for such a face. Call it loveable, bewitching, which is far better than beautiful, and you were still far from a satisfactory adjective, Leicester thought; and as he sat and listened, his gaze alternating between the fair, young face and the dark, sinister one of the man by her side, he felt her heart slipping away from him.
The song finished, there arose a commotion at the whist table.
The vicar, in nervous, jerky sentences, was calling Mr. Dodson over the coals for bad play.
Mr. Dodson, with a bewildered air, was vainly endeavoring to explain, and at last managed to persuade the captain, who had stood smilingly listening to the dispute, to take his place.
The captain sat down, asserting, with a good-natured shrug of his shoulders, that he had not taken a hand at whist for a twelvemonth—which was indeed solemn truth—and the game commenced, the vicar and Mrs. Giles being partners against the captain and Mrs. Dodson.
"What are the stakes?" said the captain.
"Er—er—" stammered the vicar, in his shrill falsetto, "what you please."
"Half-crown points?" said the captain, carelessly, and the rest agreeing, the captain and Mrs. Dodson lost the first game.
Now the vicar was fond of cards, and was still more fond of winning a little money at them. The captain made one or two gross blunders, and clearly proved that he was out of practice. The vicar was but human and suggested that they should raise the stakes.