"Miss Whadda-you-call-it," he retorted, "you go right over there by my desk—open the bottom drawer—there's chessmen and a board. I've been looking for four years for somebody who had sense enough to play chess."
Babiche trotted at her heels, sniffing at all the new odors about her. Felicia moved easily, she got the chess men, went and brought back her lap-board and sat patiently at the bedside.
Four o'clock, half past four o'clock, five o'clock—there was no sound save the shove of the chess men. The room grew dark—the old man impatiently indicated the light. The little dog curled contently on the foot of the bed, Felicia's sleek head bent over the board. He was no easy opponent. At quarter past five nurse fluttered heavily in, looked at the bedside and gasped.
"Why Mr. Alden—"
He waved her away.
At half past five, the mistress of the household puffed up the stairway. She paused by the deserted chair in the hallway.
"Where's the seamstress?" she demanded.
The nurse showed her.
Felicia's hand was poised over a knight, she looked up gravely and smiled.
Mrs. Alden's hat with its waving plumes was overpowering enough, but her voice, strident and angry, seemed to fill the whole room.