“Who opened it?” he demanded with a great effort.
“Bridge, my dear,” Alice reminded him, “not poker—bridge, auction bridge.” She paused a moment while the clock struck three. “And it’s three o’clock, and it’s quite time you began.”
“One no trump,” Nora said, after looking at her hand cheerfully.
“It isn’t your bid,” Alice corrected her, “although I don’t wonder you forgot. It’s Michael’s; he dealt.”
Michael tried to concentrate his gaze on his hand. There seemed to be an enormous number of cards, and he needed time to consider the phenomenon.
“What’d the dealer draw?” he asked.
“But we’re not playing poker,” Alice said.
“It was Monty who confused me,” he said in excuse, and looked reproachfully at his vis-à-vis. “What’s trumps?”
“It’s your bid,” Nora cried. “You dealt.”
“I go one spade.”