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“What ho, fair lady!” he said, now completely restored. “Methinks thou art forsworn! Let me have a keek at the last trick but three! Verily I wis that thou didst trump ye club aforetime. I said so; there it is. Eh, that’s bonny for us, partner!”

Miss Mapp, of course, denied it all, and a ruthless reconstruction of the tricks took place. The Major, still busy with red-currant fool, was the last to grasp the disaster, and then instantly deplored the unsportsmanlike greed of his adversaries.

“Well, I should have thought in a friendly game like this—” he said. “Of course, you’re within your right, Bartlett: might is right, hey? but upon my word, a pound of flesh, you know.… Can’t think what made you do it, partner.”

“You never asked me if I had any more clubs,” said Miss Mapp shrilly, giving up for the moment the contention that she had not revoked. “I always ask if my partner has no more of a suit, and I always maintain that a revoke is more the partner’s fault than the player’s. Of course, if our adversaries claim it—”