"Most of the really great lessons I have learned have been taught me by the Poor," was one of her favourite statements. The one great lesson that the Poor in general would have liked to have taught her, that their kitchens and sickrooms were not unreservedly at her disposal as private lecture halls, she had never been able to assimilate. She was ready to give them unlimited advice as to how they should keep the wolf from their doors, but in return she claimed and enforced for herself the penetrating powers of an east wind or a dust storm. Her visits among her wealthier acquaintances were equally extensive and enterprising, and hardly more welcome; in country-house parties, while partaking to the fullest extent of the hospitality offered her, she made a practice of unburdening herself of homilies on the evils of leisure and luxury, which did not particularly endear her to her fellow guests. Hostesses regarded her philosophically as a form of social measles which everyone had to have once.
The third prospective player, Francesca noted without any special enthusiasm, was Lady Caroline Benaresq. Lady Caroline was far from being a remarkably good bridge player, but she always managed to domineer mercilessly over any table that was favoured with her presence, and generally managed to win. A domineering player usually inflicts the chief damage and demoralisation on his partner; Lady Caroline's special achievement was to harass and demoralise partner and opponents alike.
"Weak and weak," she announced in her gentle voice, as she cut her hostess for a partner; "I suppose we had better play only five shillings a hundred."
Francesca wondered at the old woman's moderate assessment of the stake, knowing her fondness for highish play and her usual good luck in card holding.
"I don't mind what we play," said Ada Spelvexit, with an incautious parade of elegant indifference; as a matter of fact she was inwardly relieved and rejoicing at the reasonable figure proposed by Lady Caroline, and she would certainly have demurred if a higher stake had been suggested. She was not as a rule a successful player, and money lost at cards was always a poignant bereavement to her.
"Then as you don't mind we'll make it ten shillings a hundred," said Lady Caroline, with the pleased chuckle of one who has spread a net in the sight of a bird and disproved the vanity of the proceeding.
It proved a tiresome ding-dong rubber, with the strength of the cards slightly on Francesca's side, and the luck of the table going mostly the other way. She was too keen a player not to feel a certain absorption in the game once it had started, but she was conscious to-day of a distracting interest that competed with the momentary importance of leads and discards and declarations. The little accumulations of talk that were unpent during the dealing of the hands became as noteworthy to her alert attention as the play of the hands themselves.
"Yes, quite a small party this afternoon," said Serena, in reply to a seemingly casual remark on Francesca's part; "and two or three non-players, which is unusual on a Wednesday. Canon Besomley was here just before you came; you know, the big preaching man."
"I've been to hear him scold the human race once or twice," said Francesca.
"A strong man with a wonderfully strong message," said Ada Spelvexit, in an impressive and assertive tone.
"The sort of popular pulpiteer who spanks the vices of his age and lunches with them afterwards," said Lady Caroline.
"Hardly a fair summary of the man and his work," protested Ada.
"I've been to hear him many times when I've been depressed or discouraged, and I simply can't tell you the impression his words leave - "
"At least you can tell us what you intend to make trumps," broke in Lady Caroline, gently.
"Diamonds," pronounced Ada, after a rather flurried survey of her hand.
"Doubled," said Lady Caroline, with increased gentleness, and a few minutes later she was pencilling an addition of twenty-four to her score.
"I stayed with his people down in Herefordshire last May," said Ada, returning to the unfinished theme of the Canon; "such an exquisite rural retreat, and so restful and healing to the nerves.
Real country scenery; apple blossom everywhere."
"Surely only on the apple trees," said Lady Caroline.
Ada Spelvexit gave up the attempt to reproduce the decorative setting of the Canon's homelife, and fell back on the small but practical consolation of scoring the odd trick in her opponent's declaration of hearts.
"If you had led your highest club to start with, instead of the nine, we should have saved the trick," remarked Lady Caroline to her partner in a tone of coldly, gentle reproof; "it's no use, my dear," she continued, as Serena flustered out a halting apology, "no earthly use to attempt to play bridge at one table and try to see and hear what's going on at two or three other tables."
"I can generally manage to attend to more than one thing at a time," said Serena, rashly; "I think I must have a sort of double brain."
"Much better to economise and have one really good one," observed Lady Caroline.
"LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI scoring a verbal trick or two as usual," said a player at another table in a discreet undertone.
"Did I tell you Sir Edward Roan is coming to my next big evening," said Serena, hurriedly, by way, perhaps, of restoring herself a little in her own esteem.
"Poor dear, good Sir Edward. What have you made trumps?" asked Lady Caroline, in one breath.
"Clubs," said Francesca; "and pray, why these adjectives of commiseration?"
Francesca was a Ministerialist by family interest and allegiance, and was inclined to take up the cudgels at the suggested disparagement aimed at the Foreign Secretary.
"He amuses me so much," purred Lady Caroline. Her amusement was usually of the sort that a sporting cat derives from watching the Swedish exercises of a well-spent and carefully thought-out mouse.
