It was a sight to see Salome deal the cards. Had they been hundred-pound notes she could not have been more particular; wetting her thumb, and taking the greatest care she could to deliver only one at a time, while Vidler looked calmly on, then took up his, smiled at them, selected two for the crib, frowned over them, counted how many he should hold, tried another way, seemed satisfied, and then as he threw out, having thoroughly instructed his partner--now his opponent--in all the technicalities and time-honoured sayings of the game, he informed Salome that he had contrived a "regular bilk." "Have you?" said Salome, nodding and throwing out her own couple. "Cut up." Vidler "cut up," and Salome took the card upon the top, exclaimed "Two for his heels," scored them, and Vidler frowned, for his "bilk" accorded wonderfully well with the turned-up card. "Master didn't seem to relish that cutlet," said Vidler, playing first--"six." "No," said Salome, "he has been too much bothered lately--fifteen," and she scored a second "two." "More trouble coming," said Vidler--"twenty-two." "And nine's a screw," said Salome seriously, taking another couple for thirty-one. Then the played cards were solemnly turned down and the game went on. "Eight," said Vidler. "How ill Miss Renee looks!" "Fourteen," said Salome, playing a six. "Yes, poor girl! she's brought her pigs to a bad market." "Got you this time," said Vidler, smiling, as he played an ace--"fifteen"--and scored his two. "Twenty," said Salome; and so the game went on, the little woman playing with all the serious precision of an old stager, calling thirty-one "eleven," informing Vidler when she was well ahead that it was "all Leadenhall Street to a China orange," and proving herself such an adept that the little man was thoroughly beaten. "Better luck next time," said Vidler, giving the Cards a good shuffle; and then the pair stopped to listen, for faint and low, like a melody from another land, came the sad sweet voice of Renee, singing that wonderful old Irish air, "Grammachree," putting an end to the play, for the couple sat and listened, Vidler nodding his head gently, and waving a card to the melancholy cadence till it ended, when the game once more began. _Pop_! "Bless us and save us?" cried Salome, dropping her Cribbage-peg as she was in the act of scoring three for a run; "is it a purse or a coffin?" Vidler rose, and, taking the tongs, carefully picked up the cinder which had flown from the fire, and was now making an unpleasant savour of burning woollen fabric to arise from the hearthrug. He laid it solemnly upon the table to cool, and then it was shaken by Salome, but gave forth no answering tinkle. "It isn't a purse," she said, holding it to the light. "It's a coffin!"