Bridge at a penny a hundred was apparently an innocent occupation--at
anything higher, an awful example.
"Then we'll play for a penny a hundred," declared Lady Susan
good-humouredly, when Miss Caroline had explained her scruples. "Who'll
play? You will, Mr. Tempest? And you, Robin? That'll make one table. What
about you others?"
"I don't play bridge," said Brett mendaciously, adding _sotto voce_ to Lady
Susan: "A least, I can't afford to play for a penny a hundred, beloved
aunt." Then aloud: "Besides, Ann wants to see all over the boat, so I'm
going to trot her round."
Ann laughed in spite of herself, never having expressed any such desire as
was thus coolly attributed to her. But she submitted good-naturedly enough
to being carried off by Brett on a tour of inspection, whilst Lady Susan
and the rector, accompanied by Robin and Miss Caroline, went below to play
bridge, leaving Mrs. Hilyard and Coventry alone together on deck.
A silence fell between them. Throughout the whole time which had elapsed
since they had both come to live at Silverquay they had never before
been actually alone. By tacit consent they had mutually avoided such a
happening, and now, without any possibility of escape, it seemed to Cara
that they were suddenly enfolded in a solitude which shut out the rest of
the world entirely.
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