"I never remember to have heard such a piece of moral wisdom from your lips before Anne."
They were here, much to the intense delight of Charles, interrupted by the voices of the chess players.
"That was a very pretty checkmate," said Robert Vavasour, "so totally unexpected and unperceived."
"Who has beaten?" asked Anne, going towards them, as Charles went out of the room, leaving her to do as best she could for him.
"Mr. Vavasour," replied Mrs. Linchmore, "he always does."
"Not always; you won two games of me last evening."
"Or rather you allowed me to; but I do not mind being beaten sometimes, it is tiresome never to win."
While the chess-men were being put away, Anne considered how she should begin her story, which, now it had come to the point, seemed more difficult than she had imagined. At length a bright idea struck her.
"I hate chess," she said, "and cannot think what pleasure there can be in poring over such a dull game. I would a thousand times rather play the children's Race game; there is something exciting in that, but poor Miss Neville is too ill to play now."
"Ill!" exclaimed Mrs. Linchmore. "Miss Neville ill?" while one of the chess-men slipped from Robert Vavasour's fingers, and rolled over on to the soft hearth rug, instead of into the box as he had intended.