The Vicar took the trick and gathered it up in silence. He was a
portly, antique gentleman, with a fine taste for scandal in its
proper place, but disliked conversation during a rubber.

"Twins, eh?" growled the Admiral. "Just what I expected. She always
was a wasteful woman."

"My love!" expostulated his wife. Miss Limpenny blushed.

"They'll come to the workhouse," he went on, "and serve him right for
making such a marriage."

"I have heard that his heart is in the right place," pleaded Miss
Limpenny, "but he used--"

"Eh, ma'am?"

"It's of no consequence," said Miss Limpenny, with becoming
bashfulness. "It's only that he always used, in sorting his cards,
to sit upon his trumps--that always seemed to me--"

"Just so," replied the Admiral, "and now it's twins. Bless the man!
what next?"

It was in the golden age, before Troy became demoralised, as you
shall hear. At present you are to picture the drawing-room of the
Misses Limpenny arranged for an "evening": the green rep curtains
drawn, the "Book of Beauty" disposed upon the centre table, the
ballad music on the piano, and the Admiral's double-bass in the