The chairs scraped. Miss Taylor, who was left for the seventh consecutive game at the corner table, sighed expansively.
"Oh, dear, isn't that just too bad now?" she lamented. "If only Mr. Armstrong had returned my lead in diamonds we should have got the odd that time. Mr. Slater, isn't it just vexing that when I get to the only broken chair in the room I should be kept sitting on it seven times running? I'll be sprouting roots into it if I don't get a move on soon."
"Clubs," gloomily announced Mrs. Armstrong, turning up the last card, and frowning at Miss Taylor.
"Well, of all the dreadful luck! When I haven't——"
"If you talked less, Miss Taylor," suggested Coast severely, "both you and your partner might have more chance of moving on, unless, of course, you want to get the booby prize."
Miss Taylor flushed, and bent disconsolately over her cards.
"Never mind, Miss Taylor." Mary had returned from the class room. "Luck in cards isn't everything. I never saw the supper room more prettily arranged, and if you can decorate as nicely as that you deserve the toast-rack at least, even if you don't make the highest score."
"May I beg you not to talk to the players, while the game is in progress, Mrs. Robson? Strictly a matter of formality of course, but rules are rules."
"Ha ha! we can't have our hostess called to order, can we, Miss Taylor?" laughed the vicar jocularly. "Not before supper anyway, Mr. Coast. She might go off with all the jellies—and the chocolate moulds, ha? Mustn't kill the goose that lays the golden eggs."
"Oh, good evening, Mr. Slater." The schoolmaster might not have existed for all the attention Mary paid him. "Have you seen how charmingly Mrs. Coast and Miss Taylor have decorated the class room? Come and look."