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"There was" said Malcourt; and ironically condoled with him as Portlaw accomplished a little slam in hearts. Then Tressilvain dealt; and Malcourt's eyes never left his brother-in-law's hands as they distributed the cards with nervous rapidity. "Misdeal," he said quietly. "What?" demanded his sister in sharp protest.
Tressilvain rose from his chair and tried to see, but as everybody was clear of the table, and their fingers barely touched the top, he could discover no visible reason for what was occurring so violently under his very pointed nose. "It's like a bally earthquake," he said in amazement. "God bless my soul! the thing is walking off with us!"
"The trouble with us," mused Malcourt, lazily switching the fragrant beach-grapes with his riding-crop, "is inbreeding. Yes, that's it. And we know what it brings to kings and kine alike. Tressilvain is half-mad, I think. And we are used up and out of date.... The lusty, jewelled bacchantes who now haunt the inner temple kindle the social flames with newer names than ours.
Then, suddenly, the heavy table rose slowly, the end on which Shiela's hands rested sinking; and fell back with a solid shock. "That's rather odd!" muttered Tressilvain. Portlaw's distended eyes were fastened on the table, which was now heaving uneasily like a boat at anchor, creaking, cracking, rocking under their finger-tips.
"I don't understand, Louis, exactly what settlement what sort of arrangement you made when you married this very interesting young girl " "Oh, I didn't have anything to endow her with," said Malcourt, so amiably stupid that his sister bit her lip. Tressilvain essayed a jest. "Rather good, that!" he said with his short, barking laugh; "but I da'say the glove was on the other hand, eh, Louis?"
He had a year in which to live in a certain manner and do a certain thing; and it was going to amuse him to do it in a way which would harm nobody. The year promised to be an interesting one, to judge from all signs. For one item his sister, Lady Tressilvain, was impending from Paris also his brother-in-law complicating the humour of the visitation.
But there came into his life a brilliant woman who stayed a year and left his name a mockery: Malcourt's only sister, now Lady Tressilvain, doubtfully conspicuous with her loutish British husband, among those continentals where titles serve rather to obscure than enlighten inquiry.
"It's a misdeal," repeated Malcourt, smiling at her; and, as Tressilvain, half the pack suspended, gazed blankly at him, Malcourt turned and looked him squarely in the eye. The other reddened. "Too bad," said Malcourt, with careless good-humour, "but one has to be so careful in dealing the top card, Herby. You stumble over your own fingers; they're too long; or perhaps it's that ring of yours."
"Why, isn't that curious, Helen! Right off the bat like that! cricket-bat," he explained affably to Tressilvain, who, as dinner was imminent, had begun fumbling for his check-book. At Malcourt's suave suggestion, however, instead of drawing a new check he returned Portlaw's check. Malcourt took it, tore it carefully in two equal parts. "Half for you, William, half for me," he said gaily. "My my!
Tressilvain looked dully annoyed, although there was nothing in his brother-in-law's remark to ruffle anybody, except that his lordship did not like to be called Herby.
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