Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
room and resume what he had been saying. Nowadays dinner is little more than a bribe offered to so many women and men to induce them to play bridge with you rather than with some one else. The tables were already set, when we left the dining-room; Lady Erskine’s last words were: “You won’t be long, will you?”
I do not play. Even in old days I never mastered whist. And I hope you will not cry “Sour grapes”, if I say that I do not wish to learn. I ask nothing better than a little music after dinner. If not too modern, it does not interfere with conversation, whereas the sight of a card-table freezes the most eloquent lips. . .
“What about a rubber before the others come up?,” asked one of these young actresses. I had not caught her name and perhaps I am doing her a grave injustice; but, if I had not Lady Erskine’s implied guarantee, I should have considered her. . . Well, let me say I should have been very much surprised at being asked to meet her. . .
“I am afraid you must not count on me,” I said.
The young woman reckoned up the numbers present and asked:
“What about poker, then?”
Here, I am thankful to say. Lady Erskine
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