That same evening when Maryllia was dressing for dinner, there came a tap at her bedroom door, and in response to her 'Come in!' Eva Beaulyon entered.
"May I speak to you alone for a minute?" she said.
Maryllia assented, giving a sign to her maid to leave the room.
"Well, what is it, Eva?" said Maryllia, when the girl had gone—
"Anything wrong?"
Eva Beaulyon sank into a chair somewhat wearily, and her beautiful violet eyes, despite artistic 'touching up' looked hard and tired.
"Not so far as I am concerned,"—she said, with a little mirthless laugh—"Only I think you behaved very oddly this afternoon. Do you really mean that you object to Bridge on Sundays, or was it only a put on?"
"It was a put off!" responded Maryllia, gaily—"It stopped the intended game! Seriously, Eva, I meant it and I do mean it. There's too much Bridge everywhere—and I don't think it necessary,—I don't think it even decent—to keep it going on Sundays."
"I suppose the parson of your parish has told you that!" said Lady
Beaulyon, suddenly.
Maryllia's eyes met hers with a smile.
"The parson of the parish has not presumed to dictate to me on my actions,"—she said—"I should deeply resent it if he did."