“We’re right in front of the window, uncle. Perhaps some of us might object to possible draughts.” But Ernest refused to allow his desires to be side-tracked in this way. “You don’t object, Miss Forrest? No? And you people don’t, either? You see, Sylvia, nobody minds. I’ll just open it a bit.” He went forward and threw open the lower sash to its highest range. “There! That’s much better!” he ejaculated, as he retired to his corner again. “It won’t get so stuffy now. That’ll be a great improvement, you’ll see. I never could stand stuffy rooms. I remember . . .” Whatever he remembered was drowned by the loud-speaker. Arthur had at last completed his repairs and the jazz music of the machine filled the room. “There! That’s all right now,” the mechanic announced at the pitch of his voice in an endeavour to make himself heard. “I’ll just leave it on, if you don’t mind. I want to see if it’s properly fixed up.” He left the room unobserved by the bridge-players, who were intent on their game. Ernest gave a sour look at the loudspeaker; and after bearing it with obvious distaste for some minutes, he also rose. “I’m going into the winter-garden,” he explained, as he passed the bridge-table. “I can’t stand the racket that machine makes. It makes my head ache; it gives me a regular piercing pain in the ear to sit near it. I’ll just rest quietly in the winter-garden and come back again when Arthur’s finished with his tinkering at the affair.” He stooped over Sir Clinton’s shoulder and added in an undertone: “I’ve been very careful lately. I’ve taken your advice and kept inside the house as much as possible—so as to run no unnecessary risks, you know.” He nodded with the air of one who confirms a weighty decision and lumbered off out of the room, leaving Sir Clinton staring after him. “My advice!” the Chief Constable reflected with a certain dry amusement. “Well, I like his cheek in foisting that on to my shoulders!” Wendover was glad that the bridge precluded much conversation. He felt that Sir Clinton had drawn him into a false position that evening; and he had to exert himself so as not to betray his feelings in the matter. Once they sat down, however, the play turned out very even; and he had not much mental energy left for anything beyond his game, which tended to reconcile him to his visit. Both the girls played better than the average; and he was beginning to forget his dissatisfaction as time went on. “That’s game and rubber,” said Sir Clinton, at length, as he looked up from the marker lying beside him. Sylvia glanced at her wrist-watch. “Shall we play another?” she asked. “There’s plenty of time, unless you wish to get away early.”