After tea there was some little demur and difficulty.  We were six in number; four could play at Preference, and for the other two there was Cribbage.  But all, except myself (I was rather afraid of the Cranford ladies at cards, for it was the most earnest and serious business they ever engaged in), were anxious to be of the “pool.”  Even Miss Barker, while declaring she did not know Spadille from Manille, was evidently hankering to take a hand.  The dilemma was soon put an end to by a singular kind of noise.  If a baron’s daughter-in-law could ever be supposed to snore, I should have said Mrs Jamieson did so then; for, overcome by the heat of the room, and inclined to doze by nature, the temptation of that very comfortable arm-chair had been too much for her, and Mrs Jamieson was nodding.  Once or twice she opened her eyes with an effort, and calmly but unconsciously smiled upon us; but by-and-by, even her benevolence was not equal to this exertion, and she was sound asleep.

“It is very gratifying to me,” whispered Miss Barker at the card-table to her three opponents, whom, notwithstanding her ignorance of the game, she was “basting” most unmercifully—­“very gratifying indeed, to see how completely Mrs Jamieson feels at home in my poor little dwelling; she could not have paid me a greater compliment.”

Miss Barker provided me with some literature in the shape of three or four handsomely-bound fashion-books ten or twelve years old, observing, as she put a little table and a candle for my especial benefit, that she knew young people liked to look at pictures.  Carlo lay and snorted, and started at his mistress’s feet.  He, too, was quite at home.

The card-table was an animated scene to watch; four ladies’ heads, with niddle-noddling caps, all nearly meeting over the middle of the table in their eagerness to whisper quick enough and loud enough:  and every now and then came Miss Barker’s “Hush, ladies! if you please, hush!  Mrs Jamieson is asleep.”

It was very difficult to steer clear between Mrs Forrester’s deafness and Mrs Jamieson’s sleepiness.  But Miss Barker managed her arduous task well.  She repeated the whisper to Mrs Forrester, distorting her face considerably, in order to show, by the motions of her lips, what was said; and then she smiled kindly all round at us, and murmured to herself, “Very gratifying, indeed; I wish my poor sister had been alive to see this day.”

Presently the door was thrown wide open; Carlo started to his feet, with a loud snapping bark, and Mrs Jamieson awoke:  or, perhaps, she had not been asleep—­as she said almost directly, the room had been so light she had been glad to keep her eyes shut, but had been listening with great interest to all our amusing and agreeable conversation.  Peggy came in once more, red with importance.  Another tray!  “Oh, gentility!” thought I, “can yon endure this last shock?” For Miss Barker had ordered (nay, I doubt not, prepared, although she did say,