"And now he has told me again—I mean that he's going to marry again."
"What did you do?" she asked more cordially, studying the cards.
"The first time I went to war," I answered absently, having to play up the ace and deuce of diamonds.
"I have never been able to care much for yellow hair," she observed, also studying the cards; "of course, it's effective, in a way, but—may I ask what you're going to do this time?"
"This time I'm going to play the game."
Again she studied the cards.
"It's refining," I insisted. "It teaches. I'm learning to be a Sannyasin."
Eight other cards were down, and I engrossed myself with them.
"Is a Sannyasin rather dull?"
"In the Bhagavad-gita," I answered, "he is to be known as a Sannyasin who does not hate and does not love anything."
"How are you progressing?" I felt her troubling eyes full upon me, and I suspected there was mockery in their depths.
"Oh, well, fairishly—but of course I haven't studied as faithfully as I might."
"I should think you couldn't afford to be negligent."
I played up the four of spades and put a king of hearts in the space thus happily secured.
