COMMUTER'S WIFE 219 



play." Blessed "can't." Neither can I. The card 

 cell was left out of my brain, or perhaps was early 

 absorbed by the gardening cell, which should lie 

 next door to it, both being games of chance. 



My defect, however, has kept us from joining 

 the Hillside Social Whist Club, without giving 

 offence, because of course Evan isn't expected to 

 go without me, and for a person who can't play to 

 join a whist club of seasoned matrons and patrons 

 would be worse than for a blind man to go to a 

 pantomime. 



Then permanent clubs that go on winter after 

 winter (I think Aunt Lot joined this one when I 

 was sixteen) are so well, so stupefying, to say 

 the least; and the supper is likely to be of what 

 Evan calls the surprise order, because you are sur- 

 prised if you get any, and I'm so hungry if I sit up 

 after ten o'clock in winter. Then imagine voluntarily 

 leaving a tete-a-tdte with Evan in a garden full of 

 books all in full bloom, not to mention seed cata- 

 logues, for a whist party, even if you could play. 



What do I hear? The jingle of glasses, and 

 father's room is full of smoke, too. Evan is actually 

 offering the S. P. hot Scotch! The wretch! Has 

 he no tact? 



Ah, the S. P. is taking it! 



