Who’s for a rubber of whist?” Ennison made so many mistakes that he was glad to cut out early in the evening. There were menacing possibilities; the thought of them set him a-tremble. She felt like Snow White in a secret forest house populated by dwarves. Their faces had bite marks that were hers. Had he been sick in the mind when he had done this damnable thing? It did not seem possible, for he could recall clearly all he had said and done; there were no blank spaces to give him one straw of excuse. There was a strip of old rose brocade in the making that set an ache in the girl's heart for the want of it.
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