“There’s no harm in it,” he cried.  “I really think you are too Puritanical, isn’t he, Miss—­Miss Sylvia?”

Hine had been endeavoring to pluck up courage to use her Christian name all the evening.  His pride that he had actually spoken it was so great that he did not remark at all her little movement of disgust.

Garratt Skinner seemed to weaken in his resolution.

“Well, of course, Wallie,” he said, “I want you to enjoy yourselves.  And if you especially want it—­”

Did he notice that Sylvia closed her eyes and really shivered?  She could not tell.  But he suddenly spoke in a tone of revolt: 

“But card-playing on Sunday.  Really no!”

“It’s done nowadays at the West-End Clubs,” said Archie Parminter.

“Oh, is it?” said Garratt Skinner, again grown doubtful.  “Is it, indeed?  Well, if they do it in the Clubs—­” And then with an exclamation of relief—­“I haven’t got a pack of cards in the house.  That settles the point.”

“There’s a public house almost next door,” replied Barstow.  “If you send out your servant, I am sure she could borrow one.”

“No,” said Garratt Skinner, indignantly.  “Really, Barstow, your bachelor habits have had a bad effect on you.  I would not think of sending a girl out to a public house on any consideration.  It might be the very first step downhill for her, and I should be responsible.”

“Oh well, if you are so particular, I’ll go myself,” cried Barstow, petulantly.  He got up and walked to the door.

“I don’t mind so much if you go yourself.  Only please don’t say you come from this house,” said Garratt Skinner, and Barstow went out from the room.  He came back in a very short time, and Sylvia noticed at once that he held two quite new and unopened packs of cards in his hand.

“A stroke of luck,” he cried.  “The landlord had a couple of new packs, for he was expecting to give a little party to-night.  But a relation of his wife died rather suddenly yesterday, and he put his guests off.  A decent-minded fellow, I think.  What?”

“Yes.  It’s not every one who would have shown so much good feeling,” said Garratt Skinner, seriously.  “One likes to know that there are men about like that.  One feels kindlier to the whole world”; and he drew up his chair to the table.

Sylvia was puzzled.  Was this story of the landlord a glib lie of Captain Barstow’s to account, with a detail which should carry conviction, for the suspiciously new pack of cards?  And if so, did her father believe in its truth?  Had the packs been waiting in Captain Barstow’s coat pocket in the hall until the fitting moment for their appearance?  If so, did her father play a part in the conspiracy?  His face gave no sign.  She was terribly troubled.

“Penny points,” said Garratt Skinner.  “Nothing more.”

“Oh come, I say,” cried Hine, as he pulled out a handful of sovereigns.