cked up in the dark all these years!
Do let's have them out and play dummy to-night."

A spirit of Conservatism suggested that it would be impious to disturb a
_status quo_ connected with Royalty. But Gwen said, touching a visible
ace:--"Just think, Clo, if _you_ were an ace, and had a chance of being
trumps, how would you like to be shut up in a drawer again?" This appeal
to our common humanity had its effect, and a couple of packs were
brought out for use. No language could describe the penetrating powers
of the dust that accompanied their return to active duties. It ended the
visit _en passant_ of these three ladies, who were not sorry to find
themselves in an upstairs suite of rooms with a kitchen and a miniature
household, just established regardless of expense. Because three hundred
a year was what Miss Grahame was "going to" live upon, as soon as she
had "had time to turn round," and for the moment it was absurd to draw
hard and fast lines. Just wait and give her time, to get a little
settled!

The fatigue of the journey was enough to negative any idea of going out
anywhere, and indeed there was nothing in the way of theatre or concert
that was at all tempting. But it was not enough to cause collapse, and
whist became plausible within half an hour after dinner. There was
something delightful in the place, too, with its windows opening on the
tree-tops of the Square, and the air of a warm autumn evening bringing
in the sound of a woebegone brass band from afar, mixed with the endless
hum of wheels with hoof-beats in the heart of it, like currants in a
cake. The air was all the sweeter that a whiff of chimney-smoke broke
into it now and again, and emphasized its quality. When the band left
off the "Bohemian Girl" and rested, and imagination was picturing the
trombone in half, at odds with condensation, a barrel-organ was able to
make itself heard, with _Il Pescatore_, till the band began again with
The Sicilian Bride, and drowned it.

Miss Dickenson had been discreet about her expectation of a visitor. She
maintained her discretion even when the sound of a hansom's lids,
followed by "Yes--this house!" and a double knock below, turned out not
to be a mistake, but the Hon. Percival Pellew, Carlton Club. She
nevertheless roused the interested suspicion of Gwen and her hostess,
who looked at each other, and said respectively:--"Oh, it's my cousin
Percy," and "Oh, Mr. Pellew"; the former adding:--"He can take Dummy's