“I cannot say,” said the lady with a forced smile, “that you improve my luck. Since you have been sitting there I have scarcely picked up a card worth looking at. I wish you would go and have a look at the Resident’s hand.—”
“Thank you,” cried her husband, “much obliged, you want to give me a spell of bad fortune.”
There are no more superstitious people in the world than your veteran card-players.
At Mrs. van Gulpendam’s not very reasonable or very courteous remark, van Nerekool had of course risen, and the Resident’s exclamation made him feel rather awkward; he did not, in fact, very well know what to do, when the young lady of the house came to the rescue.
“Now Mr. van Nerekool,” said she, “my ‘Fleurs d’oranger!’ what has become of them? It is time to begin, I think.”
“And my sonata in D dur,” replied the young man, “what has become of it? I have not heard a single note of it yet.”
“True,” she said, “I had quite forgotten it; come and turn over the music for me.”
“Yes, that’s right,” said fair Laurentia, “you go and turn over the music,” and for an instant she looked at the young people as they retired together and then fixed her eyes once again upon her cards.
“Now, you see,” continued she, “what did I tell you, no sooner has he turned his back than I get quite different cards!”
“Oh,” muttered van Gulpendam from his table, “I can’t bear to have a fellow prying into my hand. If he does not wish to play what does the booby want to come here for at all, I wonder?”