Page:Dark Hester.djvu/148

‘You mean, I think, better play,’ said Hester.

‘No, no,’ smiled Ingpen. ‘You were wool-gathering. That’s bad luck.’

‘I beg your pardon. I was not wool-gathering,’ Hester retorted, her head high, her eyes on her traducer, while a deep colour rose to her cheek. ‘It was a slip of the tongue.’

‘Come, I can’t believe that,| said Ingpen, tossing the cards to their places; ‘because you would hardly have meant to say three clubs, eh? That wouldn’t have done you any good, would it?’ He spoke benignly, almost paternally, as if to a forward child who must not be left in possession of an illusory triumph. Hester bit her lip, drew hard at her breath, and fixed her eyes upon her cards while Clive cast a glance of cold repudiation upon his mother’s guest.

They played in almost unbroken silence after that. Monica and Ingpen exchanged a word once or twice but neither Hester nor Clive spoke, and she understood too well their withdrawal.

‘And now I think we must go, Mummy,’ Clive said when the rubber was played and he and Hester beaten. ‘Hester has a rather full day before her tomorrow and oughtn’t to be late.’

‘Oh — don’t go on my account, I beg,’ said