Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
times over! Then a pause, while the papers were collected and the marks added; then the totals and a great deal of discussion and laughter and sometimes rather ill-natured facetiousness. And then the whole thing over again!
It would have been wearisome enough if they had played conscientiously; but, when the game was treated as a joke or a means of being malicious in secret, it was sheer waste of time. When my turn came, I was let off with quite a good character; but I am not vain enough to attribute this to anything more than luck or carelessness. I was not one of the intimates; they were in a hurry to put down any marks anywhere and move on to their next victim. At the same time I found it exceedingly unpleasant when the totals were read out—or, let me say, it would have been unpleasant if the whole game had not been so ridiculous. A hundred and fifty marks was the maximum; and, when “Love of Music” was given, I found that I had been accorded—twenty! I, who had been clamouring for music when every one else wanted to gamble or indulge in negro dances. . . And I have no doubt that I am indebted for the princely total of twenty to the chivalry of my host and hostess, who could not very well criticize a guest—at least on that score. . . Will? You think that Will came to
97
