She looked up.
Garratt Skinner was staring in astonishment at Captain Barstow.
"Cards!" he cried.

"In my house?
On a Sunday evening ?" With each question his amazement grew, and he ended in a tone of remonstrance.
"Come, Barstow, you know me too well to propose that.

I am rather hurt.

A friendly talk, and a smoke, yes.

Perhaps a small whisky and soda.