After dinner we had two tables of bridge. Fortunately, I played rather a good game, Father having taught me patiently, in order to provide one more time-killer, during my shut-inism. As we were ten, two were left to play the piano, to sit out on the verandah, to stroll about the grounds. I had cleverly manoeuvered that Wright and Ruth be left, but something went wrong, and Bill, announcing that he did not care to play, was joined by Mercedes, who insisted that the only rule she knew was "not to trump her partner's ace." I fancied, however, that she was well equipped with the finesse instinct. "And even that I often forget," she said, laughing. "Me, I have so little use for rules!" So it eventually and naturally came about that Bill and Mercedes stayed out of the game, joined now and then by whoever was dummy. For a while they remained at the far end of the room, at the piano--Bill, black and white in his dinner clothes, dreaming over the keys, Mercedes, leaning on the piano, her huge orange feather fan at her lips, singing snatches of Spanish songs from behind its shelter, her dark eyes glowing. It was, I was forced to admit to Mrs. Howells, playing at my table, a pretty picture, softened and romantic in the flicker of fire light which shone over the two and danced on the mahogany case of the Steinway. Later, they went out: Wright followed them presently, in his momentary freedom as dummy, for "a breath of air and a cigarette." I made a Grand Slam. Wright, returning, to take his place, paused to regard the score over my shoulder, and to whisper, "Is that the girl Bill picked out for me? What does he take me for, a lion-tamer?" "Hush!" I said, conscious of Mrs. Howells' proximity. But she was criticizing her husband's last play and did not hear us. It was twelve o'clock before our guests left. Mercedes, in a gorgeous black and orange cloak, seemed reluctant to depart. "I've had _such_ a wonderful evening!" she told me, "and Billy was _so_ entertaining!" I had always disliked the schoolgirl manner of talking in exclamations and italics. Wright, bidding me good-night, remarked, with mock gravity, "I'm going to buy a whip and a gun tomorrow, Mavis! That Howells girl needs a dressing down." "Dressing down?" I asked, not a little maliciously, recalling with inner amusement, Mercedes' somewhat revealing gown. But if Wright did not understand me, as I hoped he would not, my husband did, and his inevitable "Meow!" followed me into my room and lingered there for some time. War to the knife--! CHAPTER XIV GUAYABAL, CUBA-- and Heaven knows what date. Father, dearest-- We have enjoyed your letters so much, and I am glad that you have Uncle John to bear you out in your statements that you are almost well and strong again, otherwise it would seem too good to be true. What a fright you gave us all, you dear Daddy.