eagle
victory. Then she swooped, invincible. One against three she laid
about her, slashed, confounded, and defeated the enemy with terrific
slaughter. As Durant stammered, idiotic in his desperation, it was
"a regular Water-loo."

The Colonel kept it going. He laughed, "Ha-ha! What do you say to a
whiskey-and-water-loo? My head's as clear as daylight. I think I
could stand another little game if we had some whiskey and water."

A movement of Mrs. Fazakerly's arm swept the pack on to the floor.
"Frida," she cried, "take your father and put a mustard plaster on
the back of his neck."

Miss Tancred rose. She just raised the black accent of her eyebrows
as she surveyed the disenchanted table, the awful disorder of the
cards. She looked at Durant and Mrs. Fazakerly with a passionless,
interrogatory stare. Then suddenly she seemed to catch the infection
of their dreadful mirth. It wrung from her a deeper note. She too
laughed, and her laughter was the very voice of Ennui, a cry of
bitterness, of unfathomable pain. It rang harsh upon her silence and
was not nice to hear.

This unlooked-for outburst had the happy effect of bringing the
evening to an end. It seemed to be part of the program that the
Colonel should go home with Mrs. Fazakerly to take care of her, and
that Miss Tancred should go with them both to take care of the
Colonel. They had not far to walk; only through the park and across
the road to a little house opposite the lodge gates.

While they were looking for their hats Durant was left for a moment
alone with Mrs. Fazakerly. She sank into a seat beside him,
unstrung, exhausted; she seemed to be verging on that state of
nervous collapse which disposes to untimely confidence.

"I like whist," said Mrs. Fazakerly; "but it must be an awful game
to play if you don't like it."

He followed her gaze. It was fixed on Miss Tancred's retreating
figure.

"Why on earth does she play if she doesn't like it?"

Mrs. Fazakerly turned on him, suddenly serious.

"She plays because the Colonel likes it--because she is the best
girl in the world, Mr. Durant."

He stood reproved.

IV

Three days passed; they brought nothing new; each was a repetition
of the other; each merged itself in whist. No relief came from the
outside world; the outside world must have found out long ago that
it was not worth while driving many miles to call on the Tancreds.

Three days at Coton Manor would have been trying to anyone; to