Mrs. Rastall-Retford, absorbed, did not notice for an instant. Then she
gave tongue.
"What are you doing, Miss Hendrie?"
Eve was breathing quickly.
"I--I thought that Mr. Rayner might like a sandwich."
She was at his elbow with the plate. It trembled in her hand.
"A sandwich! Kindly do not be so officious, Miss Hendrie. The idea--in
the middle of a hand----" Her voice died away in a resentful mumble.
Peter started. He had been allowing his thoughts to wander. He looked
from the sandwich to Eve and then at the sandwich again. He was
puzzled. This had the aspect of being an olive-branch--could it be?
Could she be meaning----? Or was it a subtle insult? Who could say? At
any rate it was a sandwich, and he seized it, without prejudice.
"I hope at least you have had the sense to remember that Mr. Rayner is
a vegetarian, Miss Hendrie," said Mrs. Rastall-Retford. "That is not a
chicken sandwich?"
"No," said Eve; "it is not a chicken sandwich."
Peter beamed gratefully. He raised the olive-branch, and bit into it
with the energy of a starving man. And as he did so he caught Eve's
eye.
"Miss Hendrie!" cried Mrs. Rastall-Retford.
Eve started violently.
"Miss Hendrie, will you be good enough to play? The king of clubs to
beat.
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