"Wrong lead," she said, smiling frankly at him; "and besides I hold all the trumps. Ace, King, Queen; and Ace, Knave and Queen of another suit."
"Expound, I implore."
"Aces equal general definite and decisive information. King and Queen of hearts equal Betty and the other man."
"There was another man then?"
"There always is, isn't there? Knave—your honoured self. Queen—where is the Queen, by the way,—the beautiful Queen with the sad eyes, blind, poor dear, quite blind to everything but the abominable Knave?"
"Meaning me?"
"It's not an unbecoming cap," she said, stirring her coffee, "and you wear it with an air. Where's the Queen of your suit?"
"I confess I'm at fault."
"The odd trick is mine. And the honours. You may as well throw down your hand. Yes. I play whist. Not bridge. Where is your Queen—Lady St.—what is it?"
"I haven't seen her," he said steadily, "since last June. I left Paris on a sudden impulse, and I hadn't time to say good-bye to her."