"What did it matter?"
"No, but I hate to be beaten. I wanted you to win."
"Well," said he, still with his head down, "you set me to play a bigger game to-day."
"Ah!" said Barbara, decidedly. "I won't meddle with that!"
"No?" he said, looking up with a half-hinted smile. Her cheeks were still burning with the excitement of her long struggle, and her bright eyes met his questioning glance.
"Perhaps you think I can't help meddling?" she suggested.
"Perhaps you can't. You are superstitious, aren't you? You believe in amulets and that kind of thing—or half believe. Perhaps you are foredoomed to meddle, and destiny won't let you set me down to the game and go quietly away."
Barbara was holding the king between her fingers. She replaced it on its square so absently, while she looked at Reynold, that it fell. His words seemed to trouble her.
"Well, if this game is an omen, you had better not let me meddle," she said at last.