“Tu n’es jamais monté si haut, mon beau. Pour moi, ça serait difficile de m’élever. J’aurais bien peur, moi. Tu te trouves aussi un peu ébahi, hein? n’est-ce pas?”
“Y’a place pour trois,” said Ciccio.
“Non, je crêverais, là haut. Pas pour moi!”
And they went laughing downstairs.
Miss Pinnegar was sitting with Alvina, determined not to go to chapel this evening. She sat, rather hulked, reading a novel. Alvina flirted with the two men, played the piano to them, and suggested a game of cards.
“Oh, Alvina, you will never bring out the cards tonight!” expostulated poor Miss Pinnegar.
“But, Miss Pinnegar, it can’t possibly hurt anybody.”
“You know what I think—and what your father thought—and your mother and Miss Frost—”
“You see I think it’s only prejudice,” said Alvina.
“Oh very well!” said Miss Pinnegar angrily.
And closing her book, she rose and went to the other room.
Alvina brought out the cards, and a little box of pence which remained from Endeavour harvests. At that moment there was a knock. It was Mr. May. Miss Pinnegar brought him in, in triumph.
“Oh!” he said. “Company! I heard you’d come, Miss Houghton, so I hastened to pay my compliments. I didn’t know you had company. How do you do, Francesco! How do you do, Geoffrey. Comment allez-vous, alors?”
“Bien!” said Geoffrey. “You are going to take a hand?”
“Cards on Sunday evening! Dear me, what a revolution! Of course, I’m not bigoted. If Miss Houghton asks me—”
Miss Pinnegar looked solemnly at Alvina.
“Yes, do take a hand, Mr. May,” said Alvina.
“Thank you, I will then, if I may. Especially as I see those tempting piles of pennies and ha’pennies. Who is bank, may I ask? Is Miss Pinnegar going to play too?”
But Miss Pinnegar had turned her poor, bowed back, and departed.
“I’m afraid she’s offended,” said Alvina.
“But why? We don’t put her soul in danger, do we now? I’m a good Catholic, you know, I can’t do with these provincial little creeds. Who deals? Do you, Miss Houghton? But I’m afraid we shall have a rather dry game? What? Isn’t that your opinion?”
The other men laughed.
“If Miss Houghton would just allow me to run round and bring something in. Yes? May I? That would be so much more cheerful. What is your choice, gentlemen?”
“Beer,” said Ciccio, and Geoffrey nodded.
“Beer! Oh really! Extraor’nary! I always take a little whiskey myself. What kind of beer? Ale?—or bitter? I’m afraid I’d better bring bottles. Now how can I secrete them? You haven’t a small travelling case, Miss Houghton? Then I shall look as if I’d just been taking a journey. Which I have—to the Sun and back: and if that isn’t far enough, even for Miss Pinnegar and John Wesley, why, I’m sorry.”
Alvina produced the travelling case.
“Excellent!” he said. “Excellent! It will hold half-a-dozen beautifully. Now—” he fell into a whisper—“hadn’t I better sneak out at the front door, and so escape the clutches of the watchdog?”
Out he went, on tiptoe, the other two men grinning at him. Fortunately there were glasses, the best old glasses, in the side cupboard in the drawing room. But unfortunately, when Mr. May returned, a corkscrew was in request. So Alvina stole to the kitchen. Miss Pinnegar sat dumped by the fire, with her spectacles and her book. She watched like a lynx as Alvina returned. And she saw the telltale corkscrew. So she dumped a little deeper in her chair.
“There was a sound of revelry by night!” For Mr. May, after a long depression, was in high feather. They shouted, positively shouted over their cards, they roared with excitement, expostulation, and laughter. Miss Pinnegar sat through it all. But at one point she could bear it no longer.
The drawing-room door opened, and the dumpy, hulked, faded woman in a black serge dress stood like a rather squat avenging angel in the doorway.
“What would your father say to this?” she said sternly.
The company suspended their laughter and their cards, and looked around. Miss Pinnegar wilted and felt strange under so many eyes.
“Father!” said Alvina. “But why father?”
“You lost girl!” said Miss Pinnegar, backing out and closing the door.
Mr. May laughed so much that he knocked his whiskey over.
“There,” he cried, helpless, “look what she’s cost me!” And he went off into another paroxysm, swelling like a turkey.
Ciccio opened his mouth, laughing silently.
“Lost girl! Lost girl! How lost, when you are at home?” said Geoffrey, making large eyes and looking hither and thither as if he had lost something.
They all went off again in a muffled burst.
“No but, really,” said Mr. May, “drinking and card-playing with strange men in the drawing-room on Sunday evening, of cauce it’s scandalous. It’s terrible! I don’t know how ever you’ll be saved, after such a sin. And in Manchester House, too—!” He went off into another silent, turkey-scarlet burst of mirth, wriggling in his chair and squealing faintly: “Oh, I love it, I love it! You lost girl! Why of cauce she’s lost! And Miss Pinnegar has only just found it out. Who wouldn’t be lost? Why even Miss Pinnegar would be lost if she could. Of cauce she would! Quite natch’ral!”
Mr. May wiped his eyes, with his handkerchief which had unfortunately mopped up his whiskey.
So they played on, till Mr. May and Geoffrey had won all the pennies, except twopence of Ciccio’s. Alvina was in debt.
“Well I think it’s been a most agreeable game,” said Mr. May. “Most agreeable! Don’t you all?”
The two other men smiled and nodded.
“I’m only sorry to think Miss Houghton has lost so steadily all evening. Really quite remarkable. But then—you see—I comfort myself with the reflection ‘Lucky in cards, unlucky in love.’ I’m certainly hounded with misfortune in love. And I’m sure Miss Houghton would rather be unlucky in cards than in love. What, isn’t it so?”
“Of course,” said Alvina.
“There, you see, of cauce! Well, all we can do after that is to wish her success in love. Isn’t that so, gentlemen? I’m sure we are all quite willing
