Sunday evening, again,
was devastated by what were called "games" at Crosby Ledgers. "Gad, if I
wouldn't sooner go in for the Indian Civil again!" said Sir Luke. Doris,
with the most ingratiating manner, but quite firmly, begged to be
excused. Lady Dunstable bit her lip, and presently, _a propos de
bottes_, launched some observations on the need of co-operation in
society. It was shirking--refusing to take a hand, to do one's
best--false shame, indeed!--that ruined English society and English
talk. Let everybody take a lesson from the French! After which the lists
were opened, so to speak, and Lady Dunstable, Meadows, the Dean, and
about half the young people produced elegant pieces of translation,
astounding copies of impromptu verse, essays in all the leading styles
of the day, and riddles by the score. The Home Secretary, who had been
lassoed by his hostess, escaped towards the middle of the ordeal, and
wandered sadly into a further room where Doris sat chatting with Lord
Dunstable. He was carrying various slips of paper in his hand, and asked
her distractedly if she could throw any light on the question--"Why is
Lord Salisbury like a poker?"
"I can't think of anything to say," he said helplessly, "except 'because
they are both upright.
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