“That I believe.” Leisurely Sir Anthony looked at the three cards that fell to his minor share. “It seems you lost no feathers in that bout.”
She laughed again. “Oh, I’m an ill pigeon for plucking, sir! I declare a point of five.”
“I concede it you, my fair youth.”
“A quarte may perhaps be good?”
“It depends, sir, on what heads it.”
“The King, Sir Anthony.”
“No good,” Sir Anthony said. “I hold a quarte to the Ace.”
“I am led to believe, sir, that three Kings won’t serve?”
“Quite right, my dear boy; they must give way to my three Aces.”
This was all in the grand manner. Prudence chuckled. “Oh, I’ve done then! My lead, and I count six, sir.”