" "Never count your chickens till they're hatched," observed Mrs. Then she glanced at the cards again, over which her aunt’s many-ringed hand played, and then at the rather weak, rather plump face that surveyed its operations. "Are you a poltroon, after all?" "That's it! I ought to have died that night!" "Or is there a taint of insanity in your family history? Alone and practically penniless like yourself! You weren't even stirred by gratitude. Just what in the world was that about? Before he could hazard a guess, Lucy looked back at him. "You read it, Ruth. “I fail to see the joke,” Sir John said.
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