"Can't we play for the sake of the sport?
I don't think it good sportsmanship to profit by a blunder." "Rule," observed Marion laconically.

"'Ware barbed wire, if you want the brush." "I myself never was crazy for the brush," murmured Sylvia.
Grace whispered maliciously: "But you've got it, with the mask and pads," and her mischievous head barely tipped backward in the direction of Quarrier.
"Especially the mask," returned Sylvia, under her breath, and laid on the table the last card of a Yarborough.
Plank scored without comment.

Marion cut, and resumed her cigarette.
Sylvia dealt with that witchery of rounded wrists and slim fingers fascinating to men and women alike.

Then, cards en regle, passed the make.

Plank, cautiously consulting the score, made it spades, which being doubled, Grace led a "singleton" ace, and Plank slapped down a strong dummy and folded his great arms.
Toward midnight, Sylvia, absorbed in her dummy, fancied she heard the electric bell ringing at the front door.