"I bid one on no trump—let us play cards and not fuss," interposed Mrs. Chilten.
"And every one will do as she thinks best, anyway," said Mrs. Burleston. "I bid two on hearts."
The men had been in a quandary.
Some timid ones had followed the women's lead and were looking elsewhere as Mrs. Lorraine went by—others, bachelors mainly, would have got up and bowed had she given them a glance, or even the encouragement of not ignoring them.
"I didn't know whether she would care to speak to me," said Devonshire. "Her attitude was not especially melting."
"The atmosphere on the piazza through the initial part of her progress wasn't calculated to thaw," remarked Smithers. "I never saw so icy a reception as the women gave her."
"They didn't have much on her," said Westlake. "She handed them as good as they sent—and handed it first. I'm for Mrs. Lorraine."
"So are all the men, I fancy—but we would better not let our wives know it!" laughed Devonshire.
Smithers nodded. "They take her—conduct as a reflection on themselves."
"It is a queer trait in woman—a queer trait," reflected Westlake. "Something is radically wrong with them, it seems to me, when they have no pity for their kind. A man will condone the indiscretion, but a woman never. Why is it?"