He turns over on his side, and apparently becomes engrosses in it.
"Have you been playing, Maurice?" asks Mrs. Bethune presently.
Her tone is cold. That little speech of his to Tita, uttered some time ago, "I hope not," had angered her.
"No," returns he as coldly.
He is on one of his uncertain moods with regard to her. Distrust, disbelief, a sense of hopelessness—all are troubling him.
"What a shame, Sir Maurice!" says Mrs. Chichester, leaning forward. As I have hinted, she would have flirted with a broomstick. "And you, who are our champion player."
"I'll play now if you will play with me," says Sir Maurice gallantly.
"A safe answer," looking at him with a pout, and through half-closed lids. She finds that sort of glance effective sometimes. "You know I don't play."
"Not that game," says Mr. Gower, who never can resist a thrust.
"I thought you were reading your paper," says Mrs. Chichester sharply. "Come, what's in it? I don't believe," scornfully, "you are reading it at all."