“Yes, madam, but Miss has beat me, and in doing so she has let me see a means of defeating a plan of attack that she employs vastly too often for her own safety. I have made up my mind to conquer her this time.”
“But pray, sir, show me this first,” and Mrs Freyne began to move the pieces on the board; “and perhaps Miss will oblige me by fetching the book of plays which I was reading this afternoon and left in the arbour at the end of the garden. Then there’ll be no time wasted.”
“The servants are at your disposal, madam, to run your errands.”
“Indeed, sir, how you can call these two steps an errand I don’t know. Miss can take her iya with her if she’s frightened.”
“Frightened, madam? The girl don’t wander down to the end of the garden at this hour without me and half-a-dozen peons besides, all well armed, I can tell you that.”
“I’ll assure you, sir, you are become a laughing-stock in Calcutta, with these absurd precautions. Do you forbid your daughter to oblige me?”
“Unless she desire to disoblige me, madam.”
Upon this Mrs Freyne burst into tears, lamenting that she was the most miserable woman in Bengall, and that Mr Freyne had not the slightest consideration for her, and encouraged his daughter to insult over her, and so went sobbing to her own chamber, while my papa continued his game.
“Perhaps, sir, Mrs Freyne is sick?” I ventured to say.
“No, miss, I fancy she’s sorry, and I’m glad of it.” Mr Freyne would say no more, and I durst not ask him his meaning.