On the occasions when she was in one of her dangerous moods, Mrs.
Rastall-Retford sometimes chose rest as a cure, sometimes relaxation.
Rest meant that she retired to her room immediately after dinner, and
expended her venom on her maid; relaxation meant bridge, and bridge
seemed to bring out all her worst points. They played the game for
counters at her house, and there had been occasions in Eve's experience
when the loss of a hundred or so of these useful little adjuncts to Fun
in the Home had lashed her almost into a frenzy. She was one of those
bridge players who keep up a running quarrel with Fate during the game,
and when she was not abusing Fate she was generally reproaching her
partner. Eve was always her partner; and to-night she devoutly hoped
that her employer would elect to rest. She always played badly with
Mrs. Rastall-Retford, through sheer nervousness. Once she had revoked,
and there had been a terrible moment and much subsequent recrimination.

Peter looked at her curiously.

"You're pale to-night," he said.

"I have a headache."

"H'm! How is our hostess? Fair? Or stormy?"

"As I was passing her door I heard her bullying her maid, so I suppose
stormy."

"That means a bad time for you?" he said, sympathetically.

"I suppose so. If we play bridge. But she may go to bed directly after
dinner."