Miss Davison came up to them laughing lightly.
“Oh, no, Mr. Denver,” she said, “you mustn’t make Mr. Buckland play cards on Sunday. It’s against his principles, I know. He’s told me so.”
Denver Van Santen thrust his hands into his pockets, and turned to Gerard with a jolly look of incredulous amazement.
“Oh, come now, I can’t quite believe that,” he said. “You don’t mean that in this old country there are still left people, sensible people, who care a fig what day it is on which they have a good time?”
“I don’t know that cards are my idea of a good time,” said Gerard quietly. “I’m not fond of them, and I’ve only played poker once, and that a long time ago.”
“Won’t you try your luck now?”
“I think not to-day,” said Gerard. “Aldington and I have to be getting back to town.”
“Oh, no. You’ll stay to dinner, won’t you? Aldington’s going to.”
Gerard tried to get hold of Arthur, to persuade him to leave the Priory without delay. But his friend had been too much attracted by Cora Van Santen to be able to tear himself away so soon, and they found themselves forced to stay to dinner, which was fixed on Sunday at the early hour of half-past six, in order to leave more time for card-playing afterwards, as Gerard discovered.
When the guests who had stayed to dinner, who numbered some eight or nine, retired to the drawing-rooms afterwards, they found there some half-dozen new arrivals, who had dropped in for the evening. When Gerard entered the music-room, after dinner, where he hoped to be allowed to remain, in order to escape the card-playing, he caught sight of a figure which he thought was familiar, but which he could not immediately identify.