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John Ward, Preacher by Margaret Wade Campbell Deland
page 51 of 448 (11%)
whose shining top betokened much muscle on the part of Sally. At each
corner was a candle in a tall silver candlestick, because Miss Deborah
objected to a shadow on the board, which would have been cast by a
hanging lamp. The August night was hot, and doors and windows were open
for any breath of air that might be stirring in the dark garden. Max had
retreated to the empty fireplace, finding the bricks cooler than the
carpeted floor. All was very still, save when the emphatic sweep of a
trump card made the candle flames flicker. But the deals were a
diversion. Then the rector, who had tiptoed about, to look over the
shoulder of each player, might say, "You didn't answer Miss Ruth's call,
Denner;" or, "Bless my soul, Dale, what made you play a ten-spot on that
second hand round? You ought not to send a boy to take a trick, sir!"

It was in one of these pauses that Mrs. Dale, drawing a shining
knitting-needle out of her work, said, "I suppose you got my message this
morning, brother, that Arabella Forsythe didn't feel well enough to come
to-night? I told her she should have Henry's place, but she said she
wasn't equal to the excitement." Mrs. Dale gave a careful laugh; she did
not wish to make Mrs. Forsythe absurd in the eyes of one person present.

"You offered her my place, my dear?" Mr. Dale asked, turning his blue
eyes upon her. "I didn't know that, but it was quite right."

"Of course it was," replied Mrs. Dale decidedly, while the rector said,
"Yes, young Forsythe said you sent him to say so."

Mrs. Dale glanced at Lois, sitting in one of the deep window-seats,
reading, with the lamplight shining on her pretty face.

"I asked him to come," continued the rector, "but he said he must not
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