'The night I was there they played games,' said Vincy. He spoke in a soft, even voice. 'It was just a little--well--perhaps just a _tiny_ bit ghastly, I thought; but don't tell Bruce. That evening I thought the people weren't quite young enough, and when they played 'Oranges and Lemons, and the Bells of St Clements,' and so on--their bones seemed to--well, sort of rattle, if you know what I mean. But still perhaps it was only my fancy. Mitchell has such very high spirits, you see, and is determined to make everything go. He won't have conventional parties, and insists on plenty of verve; so, of course, one's forced to have it.' He sighed. 'They haven't any children, and they make a kind of hobby of entertaining in an unconventional way.' 'It sounds rather fun. Perhaps you will be asked next Thursday. Try.' 'I'll try. I'll call, and remind her of me. I daresay she'll ask me. She's very good-natured. She believes in spiritualism, too.' 'I wonder who'll be there?' 'Anyone might be there, or anyone else. As they say of marriage, it's a lottery. They might have roulette, or a spiritual séance, or Kubelik, or fancy dress heads.' 'Fancy dress heads!' 'Yes. Or a cotillion, or just bridge. You never know. The house is rather like a country house, and they behave accordingly. Even hide-and-seek, I believe, sometimes. And Mitchell adores unpractical jokes, too.' 'I see. It's rather exciting that I'm going to the Mitchells at last.' 'Yes, perhaps it will be the turning-point of your life,' said Vincy. 'Ah! here's Bruce.' 'I don't think much of that opera glass your mother gave you,' Bruce remarked to his wife, soon after the curtain rose. 'It's the fashion,' said Edith. 'It's jade--the latest thing.' 'I don't care if it is the fashion. It's no use. Here, try it, Vincy.' He handed it to Vincy, who gave Bruce a quick look, and then tried it. 'Rather quaint and pretty, I think. I like the effect,' he said, handing it back to Bruce. 'It may be quaint and pretty, and it may be the latest thing, and it may be jade,' said Bruce rather sarcastically, 'but I'm not a slave to fashion. I never was. And I don't see any use whatever in an opera glass that makes everything look smaller instead of larger, and at a greater distance instead of nearer. I call it rot. I always say what I think. And you can tell your mother what I said if you like.' 'You're looking through it the wrong side, dear,' said Edith. CHAPTER III The Golden Quoribus