"Perfectly true."
Celia turned her attention to the Princess of Conti. She liked to look at her fair, quiet face, with its large, soft brown eyes; and she was wondering what her character was, when suddenly a lady, who had been staking extremely high, rose from her seat, flinging down her cards, cursing and swearing in most voluble French. This was the first time that Celia had heard a woman use such language, and she hid her face, shuddering.
"Ruined!" said Philip, coolly. "You had better come away."
The ladies and gentlemen at the card-table set up a shrill chorus of laughter.
"O Philip, take me home!" sobbed Celia. "I cannot bear this!"
She had heard Squire Passmore swear before now, but it was generally when he was excited or angry, and was commonly accompanied by a gentle "Hush, John!" from his wife. Philip led his sister out of the room to the seats in the recess of the corridor window.
"Sit down here a minute," he said, "and recover yourself, before I take you up-stairs. That was an unfortunate accident. If I had known I should not have brought you here."
"O Philip, let me go home! No more visits like this, please!"
"You shall do as you like, my dear," said Philip, kindly; "but the next visit will be very different from this."
Celia rose, trying to compose herself; and, afraid of disappointing her brother, she consented to be taken where he wished.