The August night was hot, and doors and windows were open for any breath of air that might be stirring in the dark garden.

Max had retreated to the empty fireplace, finding the bricks cooler than the carpeted floor.

All was very still, save when the emphatic sweep of a trump card made the candle flames flicker.

But the deals were a diversion.

Then the rector, who had tiptoed about, to look over the shoulder of each player, might say, "You didn't answer Miss Ruth's call, Denner;" or, "Bless my soul, Dale, what made you play a ten-spot on that second hand round?
You ought not to send a boy to take a trick, sir!" It was in one of these pauses that Mrs.Dale, drawing a shining knitting-needle out of her work, said, "I suppose you got my message this morning, brother, that Arabella Forsythe didn't feel well enough to come to-night?
I told her she should have Henry's place, but she said she wasn't equal to the excitement." Mrs.Dale gave a careful laugh; she did not wish to make Mrs.Forsythe absurd in the eyes of one person present.
"You offered her my place, my dear ?" Mr.Dale asked, turning his blue eyes upon her.