"I don't want Hepsy looking over my shoulder!" exclaimed Lizzie, with an expression of disgust.
"If you would let her tell you a little about the game, you would get along full as well," observed James, sarcastically.
"I don't want her to tell me!"
"Hepsy," spoke up Mrs. Royden, "why don't you take your sewing? You won't do any good there."
"Do let her look on, if it interests her," said Mr. Royden, impatiently putting down his paper, and lifting his glasses. "Don't keep her at work all the time."
But Hepsy, the moment Lizzie spoke, had shrank away from the table, with an expression of intense pain on her unattractive face.
"Come here, Hepsy," said Chester, drawing a chair for her to his side; "you may look over my shoulder. Come!"
The girl hesitated, while the big tears gathered in her eyes; but he extended his hand, and, taking hers, made her sit down. After he had played his card, he laid his arm familiarly across the back of her chair. Her face burned, and seemed to dry up the tears which had glistened, but did not fall.
Mr. Royden took up his paper again with an air of satisfaction; his wife looked sternly reconciled, and plied her sewing vigorously. The play went on pleasantly; Lizzie feeling so thoroughly ashamed of her unkindness to Hepsy—which she would not have thought of but for Chester's rebuke—that she did not speak another disagreeable word during the evening.
"Put the cards under the table,—quick!" suddenly exclaimed James.