A sudden hubbub had arisen at the Lady Letitia’s table. The baronet, a look of overheated indignation on his face, had thrown down his cards and was taking snuff with great vigor. The Lady Letitia was turning over the tricks with a wicked smile in her eyes. Parson Sugg appeared flushed and uncomfortable, while Mrs. Bilson sat bolt upright in her chair. The players at the other tables were glancing curiously at one another. “Pardon me, Sir Peter.” “Pardon you, madam!” “See. You did revoke. See, sir, you played a club here.” “Damn the club, madam!” Mrs. Bilson uttered a little squeak of indignation, tilted her nose, and stared at the baronet with shocked pity. “It is evident that my partner has made a mistake, Lady Letitia,” she said, with unpleasant emphasis upon the error. “Such mistakes will occur,” said Dr. Sugg, mildly. “I am afraid the wine was rather heavy, Sir Peter. I told Gladden to be chary of the port—” The baronet flared up at last with righteous and disgusted wrath. “What, madam! You hint that I am fuddled? I can see the pips as clear as you can.” “Sir Peter!” “I think it is time that we laid down our cards,” said Mrs. Bilson, rising. “Exactly, madam. I heartily agree with you, madam,” retorted the baronet, savagely, “whist is only fit for old women.” “Oh, Sir Peter!” “Sir Peter!” “Will you be so good as to ring for my coach, Richard Jeffray? Lot, Jilian, it is time we were moving. Lady Letitia, I kiss your hand. Gentlemen, good-night.” Jeffray had hurried forward with an expression of pain upon his face. He glanced angrily at the Lady Letitia, and followed Sir Peter, who had marched pompously out of the room. The baronet frowned at him and ignored the hand that Richard had extended. “Order my coach, lad,” was all he said. “But, Sir Peter—” They had reached the hall, and Richard, who had given his orders to Peter Gladden, turned to appease the angry baronet. Sir Peter, who had been bubbling with a seething sense of wrong, exploded his wrath in Richard’s face. “Don’t ask me to any more of your infernal drums or routs,” he said. “Those old women were for hinting that I cheated—cheated, sir, to pocket their damned miserly sixpences!” “I am sure, Sir Peter—” “Deuce take your sureness, sir. I tell you that painted old image of an aunt of yours tricked us here, sir, to make fun of us before that old she-dog of a Bilson and the rest. Damme, sir, are we Hardacres to be set down to supper after all the Bilsons and Perkabys and nobodies in the county? Come, Jill, my lass, they sent you down with the snuffler, did they! Deuce take you, sir, my daughter ain’t one to be treated as though she were born on a dung-heap and dragged up in a hovel!” Richard, bewildered, shamed and very miserable, turned to Miss Hardacre with a piteous and boyish appeal in his dark eyes. “I wish I had never given the party,” he said. “Thank you, cousin!” “It was my aunt’s doing.”