“The Duchess cheats,” announced Cecil Grainger.  “I caught her at it at Cannes—­”

“Indeed, I don’t play very well,” Honora interrupted him, “and besides—­”

“Suppose we go over to Mrs. Spence’s house,” Trixton Brent suggested.  “I’m sure she’d like to have us wouldn’t you, Mrs. Spence?”

“What a brilliant idea, Trixy!” exclaimed Mrs. Kame.

“I should be delighted,” said Honora, somewhat weakly.  An impulse made her glance toward the veranda, and for a fraction of a second she caught the eye of Lily Dallam, who turned again to Mrs. Chandos.

“I say,” said Mr. Cuthbert, “I don’t play—­but I hope I may come along.”

“And me too,” chimed in Mr. Wing.

Honora, not free from a certain uneasiness of conscience, led the way to the Brackens, flanked by Mr. Grainger and Mr. Cuthbert.  Her frame of mind was not an ideal one for a hostess; she was put out with Trixton Brent, and she could not help wondering whether these people would have made themselves so free with another house.  When tea was over, however, and the bridge had begun, her spirits rose; or rather, a new and strange excitement took possession of her that was not wholly due to the novel and revolutionary experience of playing, for money—­and winning.  Her star being in the ascendant, as we may perceive.  She had drawn Mrs. Kame for a partner, and the satisfaction and graciousness of that lady visibly grew as the score mounted:  even the skill of Trixton Brent could not triumph over the hands which the two ladies held.

In the intervals the talk wandered into regions unfamiliar to Honora, and she had a sense that her own horizon was being enlarged.  A new vista, at least, had been cut:  possibilities became probabilities.  Even when Mrs. Kame chose to ridicule Quicksands Honora was silent, so keenly did she feel the justice of her guest’s remarks; and the implication was that Honora did not belong there.  When train time arrived and they were about to climb into Trixton Brent’s omnibus—­for which he had obligingly telephoned—­Mrs. Kame took Honora’s band in both her own.  Some good thing, after all, could come out of this community—­such was the triumphant discovery the lady’s manner implied.

“My dear, don’t you ever come to Banbury?” she asked.  I’d be so glad to see you.  I must get Trixy to drive you over some day for lunch.  We’ve had such a good time, and Cecil didn’t fall asleep once.  Quite a record.  You saved our lives, really.”

“Are you going to be in town this winter?” Mr. Grainger inquired.

“I,—­I suppose so—­replied Honora, for the moment taken aback, although I haven’t decided just where.”

“I shall look forward to seeing you,” he said.

This hope was expressed even more fervently by Mr. Cuthbert and Mr. Wing, and the whole party waved her a cordial good-by as the carriage turned the circle.  Trixton Brent, with his hands in his pockets, stood facing her under the electric light on the porch.