“Oh, anything; I like 100 very well, or quadrille, or—­1 really don’t care what.”

The Misses, who had gathered round, and were standing gaping in joyful expectation of Pope Joan, or a pool at commerce, here exchanged sorrowful glances.

“I am afraid the young people don’t play these games,” replied Miss Jacky; “but we’ve counters enough,” shaking her little box, “for Pope Joan, and we all know that.”

“Pope Joan!  I never heard of such a game,” replied Lady Juliana.

“Oh, we can soon learn you,” said Miss Nicky, who having spread the green cloth on the tea-table, now advanced to join the consultation.

“I hate to be taught,” said Lady Juliana, with a yawn; “besides, I am sure it must be something very stupid.”

“Ask if she plays commerce,” whispered Miss Bella to Miss Baby.

The question was put, but with no better success, and the young ladies’ faces again bespoke their disappointment, which their brother observing, he good-naturedly declared his perfect knowledge of commerce; “and I must insist upon teaching you, Juliana,” gently dragging her to the table.

“What’s the pool to be?” asked one of the young ladies.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” said the aunts, looking to each other.

“I suppose we must make it sixpence,” said Miss Jacky, after a whispering consultation with her sister.

“In that case we can afford nothing to the best hand,” observed Miss Nicky.

“And we ought to have five lives and grace,” added one of the nieces.

These points having been conceded, the preliminaries were at length settled.  The cards were slowly doled out by Miss Jacky; and Lady Juliana was carefully instructed in the rules of the game, and strongly recommended always to try for a sequence, or pairs, etc.  “And if you win,” rejoined Miss Nicky, shaking the snuffer-stand in which were deposited the sixpences, “you get all this.”

As may be conjectured, Lady Juliana’s patience could not survive more than one life; she had no notion of playing for sixpences, and could not be at the trouble to attend to any instructions; she therefore quickly retired in disgust, leaving the aunts and nieces to struggle for the glorious prize.  “My dear child, you played that last stroke like a perfect natural,” cried Lady Maclaughlan to Miss Grizzy, as the rubber ended, they arose from the table.

“Indeed, I declare, I daresay I did,” replied her friend in a deprecating tone.

“Daresay you did!  I know you did-humph!  I knew the ace lay with you; I knew that as well as if I had seen it.  I suppose you have eyes—­but I don’t know; if you have, didn’t you see Glenfern turn up the king, and yet you returned his lead—­returned our adversary’s lead in the face of his king.  I’ve been telling you these twenty years not to return your adversary’s lead; nothing can be more despicable; nothing can be a greater proof of imbecility of mind—­humph!” Then, seating herself, she began to exercise her fan with considerable activity.  “This has been the most disagreeable day I ever spent in this house, girls.  I don’t know what’s come over you, but you are all wrong; my petticoat’s ruined; my pockets picked at cards.  It won’t do, girls; it won’t do—­humph!”