a bluebottle that finds itself thwarted by the cold unreasoning

resistance of a windowpane. "You're going to play bridge at Serena
Golackly's. She never asks me to her bridge parties."

Francesca shuddered openly this time; the prospect of having to
play bridgeanywhere in the near neighbourhood of Merla's voice was

not one that could be contemplated with ordinary calmness.
"Good-bye," she said again firmly, and passed out of earshot; it

was rather like leaving the machinery section of an exhibition.
Merla's diagnosis of her destination had been a correct one;

Francesca made her way slowly through the hot streets in the
direction of Serena Golackly's house on the far side of Berkeley

Square. To the blessedcertainty of finding a game of bridge, she
hopefully added the possibility of hearing some fragments of news

which might prove interesting and enlightening. And of
enlightenment on a particular subject, in which she was acutely and

personally interested, she stood in some need. Comus of late had
been provokingly reticent as to his movements and doings; partly,

perhaps, because it was his nature to be provoking, partly because
the daily bickerings over money matters were gradually choking

other forms of conversation. Francesca had seen him once or twice
in the Park in the desirable company of Elaine de Frey, and from

time to time she heard of the young people as having danced
together at various houses; on the other hand, she had seen and

heard quite as much evidence to connect the heiress's name with
that of Courtenay Youghal. Beyond this meagre and conflicting and

altogether tantalising information, her knowledge of the present
position of affairs did not go. If either of the young men was

seriously "making the running," it was probable that she would hear
some sly hint or open comment about it from one of Serena's gossip-

laden friends, without having to go out of her way to introduce the
subject and unduly disclose her own state of ignorance. And a game

of bridge, played for moderately" target="_blank" title="ad.适度；适中；普通">moderately high points, gave ample excuse for
convenient lapses into reticence; if questions took an

embarrassingly inquisitive turn, one could always find refuge in a
defensive spade.

The afternoon was too warm to make bridge a generally popular
diversion, and Serena's party was a comparatively small one. Only

one table was incomplete when Francesca made her appearance on the
scene; at it was seated Serena herself, confronted by Ada

Spelvexit, whom everyone was wont to explain as "one of the
Cheshire Spelvexits," as though any other variety would have been

intolerable. Ada Spelvexit was one of those naturally stagnant
souls who take infinite pleasure in what are called "movements."

"Most of the really great lessons I have learned have been taught
me by the Poor," was one of her favourite statements. The one

great lesson that the Poor in general would have liked to have
taught her, that their kitchens and sickrooms were not unreservedly

at her disposal as private lecture halls, she had never been able
to assimilate. She was ready to give them unlimited advice as to

how they should keep the wolf from their doors, but in return she
claimed and enforced for herself the penetrating powers of an east

wind or a dust storm. Her visits among her wealthier acquaintances
were equallyextensive and enterprising, and hardly more welcome;

in country-house parties, while partaking to the fullest extent of
the hospitality offered her, she made a practice of unburdening

herself of homilies on the evils of leisure and luxury, which did
not particularly endear her to her fellow guests. Hostesses

regarded her philosophically as a form of social measles which
everyone had to have once.

The third prospective player, Francesca noted without any special
enthusiasm, was Lady Caroline Benaresq. Lady Caroline was far from

being a remarkably good bridgeplayer, but she always managed to
domineer mercilessly over any table that was favoured with her

presence, and generally managed to win. A domineering player
usually inflicts the chief damage and demoralisation on his

partner; Lady Caroline's special achievement was to harass and
demoralise partner and opponents alike.

"Weak and weak," she announced in her gentle voice, as she cut her
hostess for a partner; "I suppose we had better play only five

shillings a hundred."
Francesca wondered at the old woman's moderate assessment of the

stake, knowing her fondness for highish play and her usual good
luck in card holding.

"I don't mind what we play," said Ada Spelvexit, with an incautious
parade of elegantindifference; as a matter of fact she was

inwardly relieved and rejoicing at the reasonable figure proposed
by Lady Caroline, and she would certainly have demurred if a higher

stake had been suggested. She was not as a rule a successful
player, and money lost at cards was always a poignant bereavement

to her.
"Then as you don't mind we'll make it ten shillings a hundred,"

said Lady Caroline, with the pleased chuckle of one who has spread
a net in the sight of a bird and disproved the vanity of the

proceeding.
It proved a tiresome ding-dong rubber, with the strength of the

cards slightly on Francesca's side, and the luck of the table going
mostly the other way. She was too keen a player not to feel a

certain absorption in the game once it had started, but she was
conscious to-day of a distracting interest that competed with the

momentary importance of leads and discards and declarations. The
little accumulations of talk that were unpent during the dealing of

the hands became as noteworthy to her alert attention as the play
of the hands themselves.

"Yes, quite a small party this afternoon," said Serena, in reply to
a seeminglycasual remark on Francesca's part; "and two or three

non-players, which is unusual on a Wednesday. Canon Besomley was
here just before you came; you know, the big preaching man."

"I've been to hear him scold the human race once or twice," said
Francesca.

"A strong man with a wonderfully strong message," said Ada
Spelvexit, in an impressive and assertive tone.

"The sort of popular pulpiteer who spanks the vices of his age and
lunches with them afterwards," said Lady Caroline.

"Hardly a fair summary of the man and his work," protested Ada.
"I've been to hear him many times when I've been depressed or

discouraged, and I simply can't tell you the impression his words
leave - "

"At least you can tell us what you intend to make trumps," broke in
Lady Caroline, gently.

"Diamonds," pronounced Ada, after a rather flurried survey of her
hand.

"Doubled," said Lady Caroline, with increased gentleness, and a few
minutes later she was pencilling an addition of twenty-four to her

score.
"I stayed with his people down in Herefordshire last May," said

Ada, returning to the unfinished theme of the Canon; "such an
exquisite rural retreat, and so restful and healing to the nerves.

Real country scenery; apple blossom everywhere."
"Surely only on the apple trees," said Lady Caroline.

Ada Spelvexit gave up the attempt to reproduce the decorative
setting of the Canon's homelife, and fell back on the small but

practical consolation of scoring the odd trick in her opponent's
declaration of hearts.

"If you had led your highest club to start with, instead of the
nine, we should have saved the trick," remarked Lady Caroline to

her partner in a tone of coldly, gentle reproof; "it's no use, my
dear," she continued, as Serena flustered out a halting apology,

"no earthly use to attempt to play bridge at one table and try to
see and hear what's going on at two or three other tables."

"I can generally manage to attend to more than one thing at a
time," said Serena, rashly; "I think I must have a sort of double

brain."
"Much better to economise and have one really good one," observed

Lady Caroline.
"LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI scoring a verbal trick or two as usual,"

said a player at another table in a discreet undertone.
"Did I tell you Sir Edward Roan is coming to my next big evening,"

said Serena, hurriedly, by way, perhaps, of restoring herself a
little in her own esteem.