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When dinner was ended, a renewal of the bridge game was proposed, for it had transpired at the dinner-table that Mrs. Rindge and Hugh had been partners all day, as a result of which there was a considerable balance in their favour. This balance Mr. Pembroke was palpably anxious to wipe out, or at least to reduce. But Mrs. Kame insisted that Honora should cut in, and the others supported her.

I can do it so well," said Mr. Pembroke. "I hope you got what you like for breakfast," said Honora to the ladies. "Hurry up and come down, Adele," said Hugh, "if you want to look over the horses before lunch." "It's Georgie's fault," replied Mrs. Rindge; "he's been standing in the door of my sitting-room for a whole half-hour talking nonsense." A little later they all set out for the stables.

"What do you call him?" asked Mrs. Rindge. "I haven't named him." "I'll give you a name." Chiltern looked at her. "What is it?" he said. "Oblivion," she replied: "By George, Adele," he exclaimed, "you have a way of hitting it off!" "Will you let me ride him this afternoon?" she asked. "I'm a a candidate for oblivion." She laughed a little and her eyes shone feverishly. "No you don't," he said.

"Spades," said that gentleman, promptly. "At any rate," Mrs. Rindge continued, "we all began to play, although we were ready to blow up with laughter, and after a while Georgie looked around and said, 'What, are you there yet? My dear, you ought to have seen the conductor's face!

At last Honora was able to gain her own room, but even seclusion, though preferable to the companionship of her guests, was almost intolerable. The tragedy of Mrs. Rindge had served if such a thing could be to enhance her own; a sudden spectacle of a woman in a more advanced stage of desperation. Would she, Honora, ever become like that?

The horse is all right. I've ridden dozens of worse ones." "Oh, I'm sure he isn't," she cried; "call it fancy, call it instinct, call it anything you like but I feel it, Hugh. That woman Mrs. Rindge knows something about horses, and she said he was a brute." "Yes," he interrupted, with a short laugh, "and she wants to ride him." "Hugh, she's reckless.

"You knocked him into a cocked hat," said Hugh. "And if you'd been in that kimono, you could have done it even easier." "Georgie broke the whole whiskey service, or whatever it is," Mrs. Rindge went on, addressing Honora again. "He fell into it." "He's all right this morning," observed Mrs. Kame, critically. "I think I'll take to swallowing swords and glass and things in public.

I'll get it straight after a while, she isn't his wife any more, you know; she married Eustace Rindge last month. That's the reason it's for rent. Dicky says he'll never get married again you bet! They planned it together, laid the corner-stone and all that sort of thing, and before it was finished she had a divorce and had gone abroad with Rindge.

She did not remark the young lawyer's smile, which revealed a greater knowledge of the world than one would have suspected. He said nothing, however. "Three years!" she repeated. "Why, it can't be, Mr. Wentworth. There are the Waterfords she was Mrs. Boutwell, you remember. And and Mrs. Rindge it was scarcely a year before "

"My dear, you did well to go to bed." "And to cap it all," cried Mrs. Rindge, "Georgie fell over backwards in one of those beautiful Adam chairs, and there's literally nothing left of it. If an ocean steamer had hit it, or a freight tram, it couldn't have been more thoroughly demolished." "You pushed me," declared Mr. Pembroke. "Did I, Hugh? I barely touched him."