"We'll go to the poorhouse," she lamented.
"What was it you said about my long suit, Paul?" asked Mrs. Prynne sweetly, suddenly regarding him with her softest smile.
"He didn't advise you to tell everybody what you had in your hand," snapped Dr. Macclesfield; "it's Rachel's lead."
"I'll tell you all about that long suit when Dr. Macclesfield's gone to bed, Lottie," said Van Citters coolly; "go on, Rachel."
Dr. Macclesfield grunted, looking over his spectacles at Rachel's lead.
She put down the card mechanically, her eyes unconsciously following Astry's lean and striking figure as he moved deliberately down the long rooms and passed out into the hall, where he stood a moment speaking to Craggs, his confidential valet. Rachel could not see his face, but she had a curious feeling that he was conscious of her presence at the card-table. Her perceptions were as delicate and feeler-like as the tendrils of some air-plant and they made her aware of a subtle undercurrent, and she recalled that moment on the staircase when she had been glad to feel the solid banister under her hands.
The game went on, Mrs. Prynne losing prettily and appealing to Van Citters, Dr. Macclesfield irritable and exacting, as a good player is under such conditions, while Rachel tried to give her undivided attention to the hand, her seriousness almost adjusting the balance of the pretty widow's frivolity. The four players began to be more silent, yet, at the most critical moments, Mrs. Billop's voice broke in with maternal advice to Pamela.
"When Sidney was teething, I gave him catnip tea," she said, with a finality that disposed of the young mother's faintly suggested remedies.
Mrs. Prynne, having led the wrong card, was plunged into misery by Dr. Macclesfield's scowl, while Rachel, who was now playing dummy, laid her cards down on the table, but scarcely saw them. She was beginning to wonder where Eva was, and she was aware that Dr. Macclesfield was looking over her shoulder into the conservatory. The old man's shaggy brows were bent and he was playing skilfully, scorning Mrs. Prynne. Rachel stirred uneasily in her chair and glanced down unconsciously at her own capable white hands as they lay idle in her lap. She felt a keen and entirely impossible longing to look behind her and she heard distinctly the distant click of billiard balls.
"Never use pins, sew them on," broke in Mrs. Billop's voice impressively; "pins are dangerous. When Sidney was only two months old—"