"Of Miss Kavanagh; then?"
For a brief instant, and evidently against his wish, Dysart's eyes meet those of Joyce.
"Perhaps," says he.
"A poor compliment to me," says Beauclerk, with his pleasant laugh that always rings so softly. "Well, never mind; I forgive you. Get a good partner, my dear fellow, and she may pull you through. You see I depend entirely upon mine," with a glance at Joyce, full of expression. "There's Miss Maliphant now—she'd make a good partner if you like."
"I shouldn't," says Dysart, immovably.
"She plays a good game, I can tell you."
"So do you," says Dysart.
"Oh, now, Dysart, don't be sarcastic," says Beauclerk laughing. "I believe you are afraid of me, not of Miss Kavanagh, and that's why you won't play. But if you were to put yourself in Miss Maliphant's hands, I don't say but that you would have a chance of beating me."
"I shall beat you by myself or not at all," says Dysart suddenly, and for the first time looking fair at him.
"A single, you mean?"