almost passionately. “I WILL play it on the last night.”
“Come, Mrs. Vesey,” said Miss Halcombe, “Mr. Gilmore and I are tired of ecarte—come and be Mr. Hartright’s partner at whist.”
The old lawyer smiled satirically. His had been the winning hand, and he had just turned up a king. He evidently attributed Miss Halcombe’s abrupt change in the card-table arrangements to a lady’s inability to play the losing game.
The rest of the evening passed without a word or a look from her. She kept her
before it was recalled again by her own answer. I stopped suddenly, and looked at her.
“Sir Percival Glyde,” she repeated, imagining that I had not heard her former reply.
“Knight, or Baronet?” I asked, with an agitation that I could hide no longer.
She paused for a moment, and then answered,