"With pleasure!" and Lady Wicketts' sunken old eyes gleamed with an anxious light over the furrows of flesh which encircled them, as she promptly deserted Miss Fosby, who had been sitting next to her, for the purpose of livelier entertainment;--and in a moment there was a general gathering together in the wide embrasure of the window nook, and an animated discussion as to who should play Bridge and who should not. Maryllia watched the group silently. There were varying shades of expression on her mobile features. She held Cicely's hand in her own,--and was listening to some of Adderley's observations on quite ordinary topics, when suddenly, with, an impulsive movement, she let Cicely go, and with an 'Excuse me!' to Julian, went towards her guests. She had made a resolve;--it would be an attempt to swim against the social current, and it was fraught with difficulty and unpleasantness,--yet she was determined to do it. "If I am a coward now," she thought--"I shall never be brave!" Her heart beat uncomfortably, and she could feel the blood throbbing nervously in her veins, as she bent her mind to the attitude she was about to take up, regardless of mockery or censure. Scraps of the window conversation fell on her ears--"I won forty pounds last Wednesday,-- it just paid my boot-bill!" said one young woman, laughing carelessly. "Luckier than me!" retorted a man next to her--"I had to pay a girl's losses to the tune of a hundred. It's all right though!" And he grinned suggestively. "Is she pretty?" "Ripping!" "I want to make up five hundred pounds this week," observed Mrs. Bludlip Courtenay, in the most serious and matter-of-fact way--"I've won it all but a hundred and fifty." "Good for you!" "Rather!" said Lord Charlemont, nodding approval--"I'd like to get you for a partner!" "I AM considered lucky,"--smiled Mrs. Courtenay, with an air of virtuous pride--"I always win SOMETHING!" "Well, let's begin at once,--we'll play all the afternoon." said Lady Beaulyon. "Where are the tables?" "AND the cards?" "Ask Maryllia---" But at that moment Maryllia stepped gently into their midst, her eyes shining, her face very pale. "Not on Sunday, please!" she said. A stillness fell upon them all. They gazed upon each other in sheer stupefaction. Lady Beaulyon smiled disdainfully. "Not on Sunday? What are you talking about, Maryllia? Not WHAT on Sunday?" "Not Bridge,"--replied Maryllia, in her clear soft voice--"I do not allow it." Fresh glances of wonderment were exchanged. The men hummed and hawed and turned themselves about on their heels--the women simply stared. Lady Beaulyon burst out laughing. "Ridiculous!" she exclaimed,--then flushed, and bit her lip, knowing that such an ejaculation was scarcely civil to her hostess. But Maryllia took no offence. "Pray do not think me discourteous,"--she said, very sweetly. "I would not interfere with your pleasure in any way if I could possibly help it. But in this instance I really must do so."