But no such restrictions hampered the rest of the party.

It is possible, of course, to play the Dodo Game with intelligence, justice and mercy. It is also possible to use it as a gorgeous opportunity for taking whangs at people and paying off old scores. It need scarcely be said which was the method adopted by the Gardens.

Sophia, having finished a paper before her neighbour, stole a look round the circle of intent faces, bent over their problems, and felt quite alarmed.

She had never seen countenances expressing so much energy, spite and furiousness, concentrated in one small circle; the relations looked like a nineteenth-century engraving called ‘The King Over The Water: a Jacobite Meeting in the Cellars of Auld Reekie.’ Every now and then one of them would give a sudden, fierce, satisfied nod and slowly, cruelly inscribe a 2 or a 9 on the paper which they held. No one spoke. No one giggled. The Dodo Game had them in its grip. Even Angela seemed infected by the spirit of the meeting, and sat frowning over her paper, forgetting to snuggle up to Francis, who had just mercifully given her seven for sex appeal when he considered that she deserved one.

Sophia signalled her apprehensions to Francis, who looked pleased. He sat back luxuriously on the sofa and waited for the fun to begin.

She collected the papers, which were handed to her in a kind of drugged, stealthy hush which was far from reassuring, and shuffled them. She saw that the first one on the sheaf was Auntie Loo’s; well, that was not so bad. Even if everyone had been spiteful to dear Auntie Loo, the latter would not mind very much; she was used to it, and it would put the others in a good temper to laugh at her.

‘Well …’ began Sophia, a little nervously. She wanted to laugh but did not dare. ‘This is Auntie Loo’s paper. She gets 23 for Looks – that’s made up of 7, 8, 2, 1, 3 and 2. There, Auntie Loo! Two of us think you’re quite nice-looking, and four of us don’t! I wonder,’ said Sophia, looking thoughtfully at Angela. ‘I wonder who gave you one?’

‘Well, dear, I never was a beauty,’ said Auntie Loo comfortably; she had taken out a little piece of pale blue crochet, and was working away and listening with a cheerful smile. ‘What else have I got?’

‘Only seventeen for Greed (so I should hope, indeed; I gave you 0) and eleven for Sex Appeal (Well, that’s very rude of them, but I shouldn’t mind if I were you) – oh – 50 for Tidiness – (I’m glad there’s some justice in the world; you ought to be top for that), and 26 for brains—’

‘More than I expected, my dear.’

‘Well, I gave you nine for Brains and so did Francis,’ said Sophia, recklessly.

‘Then,’ said Auntie Loo, crocheting busily, with her eyes on her work, ‘the rest of the company gave me eight marks for Brains between them.’