Aunt Adela fluttered. Now that he mentioned it—to tell the truth—Mrs. Cloud’s candied fruits were delicious, of course, and such a good idea—so much better than chocolates to have on a card-table—less thirsty—but they certainly made one’s fingers just a little bit sticky and that was why, she supposed, her heart had got stuck behind another card. However, here it was—no harm done—her trump would come in nicely later on. Justin breathed heavily. “_And_ the odd!” announced Gran’papa. To make matters worse the billiard players had finished their game and had gathered round to watch and comment, though Justin, as Laura knew, hated an audience. And then Justin revoked. He had never done such a thing in his life! Laura knew—his mother knew—he had never done such a thing in his life! But if people would gabble and chatter—Beggar-my-Neighbour—Perfect farce—He had never done such a thing in his life!... He said nothing with beautiful restraint, but those were the thoughts that you could see rippling one after another over his Adam’s apple. It was an awful moment. But even then the situation might have been saved if Aunt Adela, in the giddy delight of the revoke not being hers, had not been coy about it at the end of the round. “Well, Mr. Partner, and what have you got to say for yourself now?” etc., etc. Upon which Justin—of course there is no excuse whatever for Justin—looked the good lady very deliberately up and down and, without answering, turned to Mr. Valentine. Aunt Adela flushed, with that sudden change from caricature to quaintly pathetic dignity that an elderly spinster can sometimes achieve. Laura saw it. Impulsively she put out her hand (she was sitting beside him) and touched Justin’s arm. “Justin!” she breathed. He shook it off. “One diamond!” he defied them. It was at that moment that she looked up to find the eyes of Annabel Moulde fixed upon her. She stared back, insolent as Justin a moment ago, and Annabel turned away. But Annabel had been laughing. An hour later, in the quiet of her own room, she tried to shrug her shoulders, wisely, tolerantly, at the pin-prick—and could not.