And down they sat, and the contest began, Elfride having the first move. The game progressed. Elfride’s heart beat so violently that she could not sit still. Her dread was lest he should hear it. And he did discover it at last—some flowers upon the table being set throbbing by its pulsations.
“I think we had better give over,” said Knight, looking at her gently. “It is too much for you, I know. Let us write down the position, and finish another time.”
“No, please not,” she implored. “I should not rest if I did not know the result at once. It is your move.”
Ten minutes passed.
She started up suddenly. “I know what you are doing?” she cried, an angry colour upon her cheeks, and her eyes indignant. “You were thinking of letting me win to please me!”
“I don’t mind owning that I was,” Knight responded phlegmatically, and appearing all the more so by contrast with her own turmoil.
“But you must not! I won’t have it.”
“Very well.”
“No, that will not do; I insist that you promise not to do any such absurd thing. It is insulting me!”
“Very well, madam. I won’t do any such absurd thing. You shall not win.”