Part 35 (2/2)

Everyone who knows us knows Willets, and dukes and people have tried to get him away, he's such a good sportsman, but he won't leave us. We love him so much we couldn't bear it. He couldn't either. He's been keeper here nearly twenty-three years. Before mother came he was here, and now there's all of us he'll never leave.”

”Have you got enough? Won't they want some for themselves as well as Willets?”

”Thanks to you, I've got a splendid lot. One can't always ask people, you know, but I thought you wouldn't mind.”

”Shall I demand some more in a loud voice? there are some at the end of the table,” Eloquent murmured; ”I'm very shy, but I can be bold in a good cause.”

Mary looked at him in some surprise. ”Would you really? Ah, it's too late, there's mother----”

Eloquent watched her with breathless interest as she ”went round the longest way” and received new spoils from Grantly as she pa.s.sed. How curious they were about their servants these people, where Fusby seemed to control the supplies and the children of the house secretly saved sweets for the keeper.

The men did not sit long over their wine, and it was to the hall they went and not to the white-panelled room that Eloquent unconsciously resented as an anachronism; and in the hall bridge-tables were set out.

This was a complication Eloquent had not foreseen. Among his father's friends cards were regarded as the Devil's Books, and he did not know the ace of spades from the knave of hearts.

Would they force him to play, he wondered. Would he cover himself with shame and ignominy? and what if he said it was against his principles to play for money?

He braced himself to be faithful to the traditions in which he had been trained, only to find that on his saying he never _had_ played bridge no one expressed the smallest desire that he should do so.

In fact it seemed to him that three tables were arranged with almost indecent haste, cryptic remarks about ”cutting in” were bandied about, and in less than five minutes he was sitting on the oak settle by the fire with Mrs Ffolliot, who talked to him so delightfully that the dream came back.

Here on the high-backed settle he found courage to tell her how clearly he remembered that first time he had seen her in his father's shop; and plainly she was touched and interested, and drew him on to speak of his queer lonely childhood and the ultimate goal that had been kept ever before his eyes.

He was very happy, and it seemed but a short time till somebody at one of the tables exclaimed ”game and rub,” and Mary came over to the settle saying, ”Now, mother, you must take my place. I've been awfully lucky, I've won half a crown.”

She sat down beside him on the settle asking, ”Would you care to watch, or shall we just sit here and talk--which would you rather?”

What Eloquent wanted to do was to stare: to gaze and gaze at the gracious young figure sitting there in gleaming white flecked with splashes of rosy light from the dancing flames, but he could hardly say this.

”I'm afraid it would be of no use for me to watch; I have never played cards, and don't understand them in the least.”

”You mean you don't know the suits?”

”What are suits?”

”This must be seen to,” said Mary; ”you don't smoke, you drink nothing festive, you don't know one card from another; you can't go through life like this. It's not fair. We won't waste another minute, I'll teach you the suits now.”

She made him fetch a little table, she produced a pack of cards. She spread them out and she expounded. He was a quick study. By the time Mr Ffolliot came to take Mary's place he knew all the suits. By the time Mr Ffolliot had thoroughly confused him by a learned disquisition on the principles of bridge, Lady Campion's motor was announced, and he departed in her train.

”Surely Mr Gallup is a very absent-minded person,” Miss Bax remarked to her aunt when they had deposited Eloquent at his door.

”I expect he's shy,” said Lady Campion, who was sleepy and not particularly interested; ”but wasn't Mary nice to him?--I do like that girl--she's so natural and unaffected.”

”She always strikes me as being a mere child,” said Miss Bax, ”so very unformed; is she out yet, or is she still in the schoolroom?”

Sir George chuckled. ”She's on her way out,” he said, ”and, I fancy, on her way to an uncommonly good time as well. That girl is a sight to make an old man young.”

”She certainly is handsome,” said Miss Bax.

<script>