ed.

I put the brooch in the knot of ribbon I wore; Mrs. Hepburn joggled
the white satin bows of her cap in approbation.

The knocker resounded. "There is our partner," she cried.

"It must be late, ma'am," said Adelaide; "and I suspect it is some one
for us. You know we never venture on impromptu visits, except to you,
and our people know where to send."

"Late or not, you shall stay for a game," she said, as Ben came in,
hat in hand, declaring he had been scouting for us since dark. Mrs.
Hepburn snuffed the candles, and rang the bell. The small girl, with
a perturbed air, like one hurried out of a nap, brought in a waiter,
which she placed on the sideboard.

"Get to bed," Mrs. Hepburn loudly whispered, looking over the waiter,
and taking from it a silver porringer, she put it inside the fender,
and then shuffled the cards.

"Now, Ann, you may sit beside me and learn."

"If it is whist, mum, I know it. I played every afternoon at Hampton
last summer, and we spoiled a nice polished table, we scratched it so
with our nails, picking up the cards."

"Young people do too much, nowadays."

I was in the shadow of the sideboard; Ben stood against it.

"When have you played whist, Cassandra?" he asked in a low voice. "Do
you remember?"

"Is my name Cassandra?"

"Have you forgotten that, too?"

"I remember the rain."

"It is not October, yet."

"And the yellow leaves do not stick to the panes. Would you like to
see Helen?"

"Come, play with me, Ben," called Mrs. Hepburn.

"Ann, try your skill," I entreated, "and let me off."

"She can try," Mrs. Hepburn said sharply. "Don't you like games? I
should have said you were by nature a bold gamester." She dealt the
cards rapidly, and was soon absorbed in the game, though she quarreled
with Ann occasionally, and knocked over the candlestick once. Adelaide
played heroically, and was praised, though I knew she hated play.

Two hours passed before we were released. The fire went out, the
candles burnt low, and whatever the contents of the silver porringer,
they had long been cold. When Mrs. Hepburn saw us determined to go,
she sent us to the sideboard for some refreshment. "My caudle is
cold," taking off the cover of the porringer. "Why, Mari, what is
this?" she said, as the woman made a noiseless entrance with a bowl of
hot caudle.

"I knew how it would be," she answered, putting it into the hands of
her mistress.

"I am a desperate old rake, you mean, Mari. T