“I’m not a player, I know,” hastily said Mrs. Clarence, perhaps in tardy dread lest she also might be reminded of past fiascos. “Only I always remember that my husband’s golden rule used to be, ‘Third in hand plays his highest, and second in hand plays his lowest.’ I’ve never forgotten that.”
Mrs. Clarence’s husband was the only claim to superiority which she could flaunt before the better-dressed, better-housed, better-connected, generally better-off pretensions of Miss Forster and she flaunted him freely.
Perhaps it was on this account that no one paid the slightest attention to the mot of the departed card-player.
Mrs. Bulteel picked up the Daily Sketch, and said without animation, as without any shred of meaning: “Fancy the Duke of Connaught going to Canada!” and Mr. Bulteel suddenly exclaimed in shocked tones:
“Hector! You won’t have time to do your exercises before dinner if you don’t go at once.”
The youth slouched from the room.
“Mr. Hector should hold himself better!” cried Miss Forster, who never hesitated to make a remark on the score of its being a personal one. She flung back her shoulders as she spoke.
“My son is growing very fast,” said Mrs. Bulteel stiffly.
Miss Forster laughed.
“Well, I must go and take off my hat.”