"Quotations." You write down quotations on a piece of paper, and the
players have to add the author's name. It roped in four old ladies,
and the youngest bishop. One or two generals tried a round, but not
being familiar with quotations voted the game slow.

The next night my friend tried "Consequences." "Saucy Miss A. met
the gay General B. in"--most unlikely places. "He said." Really it
was fortunate that General B. remained too engrossed in the day
before yesterday's Standard to overhear, or Miss A. could never have
again faced him. "And she replied." The suppressed giggles excited
the curiosity of the non-players. Most of the bishops and half the
generals asked to be allowed to join. The giggles grew into roars.
Those standing out found that they could not read their papers in
comfort.

From "Consequences" the descent was easy. The tables and chairs were
pushed against the walls, the bishops and the spinsters and the
generals would sit in a ring upon the floor playing hunt the slipper.
Musical chairs made the two hours between bed and dinner the time of
the day they all looked forward to: the steady trot with every nerve
alert, the ear listening for the sudden stoppage of the music, the
eye seeking with artfulness the likeliest chair, the volcanic
silence, the mad scramble.

The generals felt themselves fighting their battles over again, the
spinsters blushed and preened themselves, the bishops took interest
in proving that even the Church could be prompt of decision and swift
of movement. Before the week was out they were playing Puss-in-the-
corner; ladies feeling young again were archly beckoning to stout
deans, to whom were returning all the sensations of a curate. The