--see!--I've led." She played Knave.

"This," said Mr. Pellew, with shocked gravity, "is not whist."

"Well," said Gwen, "I can _not_ see why one shouldn't say how many
cards one has of any suit. Everyone knows, so it must be fair. Everyone
sees Dummy's hand."

"I see your point. But it's not whist."

"Am I to play, or not?" said Aunt Constance. She looked across at her
partner, as a serious player rather amused at the childish behaviour of
their opponents. A sympathetic bond was thereby established--solid
seriousness against frivolity.

"Fire away!" said Gwen. "Second player plays lowest." Miss Dickenson
played the Queen. "_That's_ not whist, aunty," said Gwen triumphantly.
Her partner played the King. "There now, you see!" said Gwen. She
belonged to the class of players who rejoice aloud, or show depression,
after success or failure.

This time her exultation was premature. Mr. Pellew, without emotion,
pushed the turn-up card, a two, into the trick, saying to his
partner:--"Your Queen was all right. Quite correct!" The story does not
vouch for this. It may have been wrong.

"Do you _mean_ to _say_, Cousin Percy"--thus Gwen, with indignant
emphasis--"that you've not got a club in your hand, at the very first
round. You _cannot_ expect us to believe _that_!" Mr. Pellew pointed out
that if he revoked he would lose three tricks. "Very well," said Gwen.
"I shall keep a very sharp look out." But no revoke came, and she had to
console herself as a loser with the reflection that it was only the odd
trick, after all--one by cards and honours divided.

This is a fair sample of the way this game went on establishing a
position of moral superiority for Mr. Pellew and his partner, who looked
down on the irregularities of their opponents from a pinnacle of True
Whist. Their position as superior beings tended towards mutual
understandings. A transition state from their relations in that
easy-going life at the Towers to the more sober obligations of the
metropolis was at least acceptable; and this isolation by a better
understanding of tricks and trumps, a higher and holier view of ruffing
and finessing, appeared to provide such a state. There was partnership
of souls in it, over and above mere vulgar scoring.

Nothing of interest occurred until, in the course of the second rubber,
Gwen made a misdeal. Probably she did so because she was trying at the
same time to prove that having four by honours was absurd in itself--an