Von Ibn looked towards the player with very little interest depicted on his countenance.
“Oh, he missed,” she exclaimed disgustedly.
“But of course. How could a man like that do such a massé? You are so hopeful ever. You say, ‘See him make so difficult a play,’ when only looking upon the man’s face tells that he himself is sure that he is about to fail.”
“I’ll give you a riddle,” she went on, receiving his expostulation with a smile. “But perhaps you don’t know what a riddle is?” she added questioningly.
“Yes, I do know what a riddle is; it is what you do not know and must tell.”
“Yes, that is it.”
“And your riddle is?”
“Why am I like a dragon?”
“Like a—” he faltered.
“Dragon.”