"Now that that young man has gone we might have a game of whist," Mrs. Pettigrew suggested, looking not ill-pleased.
"For which you do not need me in the least," and Dr. Hale was about to leave, but Dr. Bellair stopped him.
"Don't be an everlasting Winter woodchuck, Dick! Sit down and play; do be good. I've got to see old Mrs. Graham yet; she refuses to go to sleep without it—knowing I'm so near. By by."
Mrs. Pettigrew insisted on playing with Miss Elder, so Vivian had the questionable pleasure of Dr. Hale as a partner. He was an expert, used to frequent and scientific play, and by no means patient with the girl's mistakes.
He made no protest at a lost trick, but explained briefly between hands what she should have remembered and how the cards lay, till she grew quite discouraged.
Her game was but mediocre, played only to oblige; and she never could see why people cared so much about a mere pastime. Pride came to her rescue at last; the more he criticised, the more determined she grew to profit by all this advice; but her mind would wander now and then to Morton, to his young life so largely wasted, it appeared, and to what hope might lie before him. Could she be the help and stimulus he seemed to think? How much did he mean by asking her to help him?
"Why waste a thirteenth trump on your partner's thirteenth card?" Dr. Hale was asking.
She flushed a deep rose color and lifted appealing eyes to him.
"Do forgive me; my mind was elsewhere."