ort of trump. There! What are we playing
for, by the way?"

"Bob a hundred," said the Padre, forgetting to be either Scotch or
archaic.

"Oh, gambler! You want the poor-box to be the rich box, Padre," said
Miss Mapp, surveying her magnificent hand with the greatest
satisfaction. If it had not contained so many court-cards, she would
have proposed playing for sixpence, not a shilling a hundred.

All semblance of manners was invariably thrown to the winds by the
ladies of Tilling when once bridge began; primeval hatred took their
place. The winners of any hand were exasperatingly condescending to the
losers, and the losers correspondingly bitter and tremulous. Miss Mapp
failed to get her contract, as her partner's contribution to success
consisted of more twos and threes than were ever seen together before,
and when quaint Irene at the end said, "Bad luck, Mapp," Miss Mapp's
hands trembled so much with passion that she with difficulty marked the
score. But she could command her voice sufficiently to say, "Lovely of
you to be sympathetic, dear." Irene in answer gave a short, hoarse laugh
and dealed.

By this time Boon had deposited at the left hand of each player a cup
containing a red creamy fluid, on the surface of which bubbles
intermittently appeared. Isabel, at this moment being dummy, had
strolled across from the other table to see that everybody was
comfortable and provided with sustenance in times of stress, and here
was clearly the proper opportunity for Miss Mapp to take a spoonful of
this attempt at red-currant fool, and with a wry face, hastily (but not
too hastily) smothered in smiles, to push the revolting compound away
from her. But the one spoonful that she took was so delicious and
exhilarating, that she was positively unable to be good for Isabel.
Instead, she drank her cup to the dregs in an absent manner, while
considering how many trumps were out. The red-currant fool made a
similarly agreeable impression on Major Flint.

"'Pon my word," he said. "That's amazingly good. Cooling on a hot day
like this. Full of champagne."

Miss Mapp, seeing that it was so popular, had, of course, to claim it
again as a family invention.

"No, dear Major," she said. "There's no champagne in it. It's my
Grandmamma Mapp's famous red-currant fool, with little additions perhaps
by me. No champagne: yolk of egg and a little cream. Dear Isabel has got
it very nearly right."

The Padre had promised to take more trick