"I didn't say——"
"My dear boy, there's no need for you to say anything; I know well enough. Don't you see?"
Denham's chair shook as Roy leant against it, but no further sound came. He fought his battle courageously, and Denham waited.
"We shall all feel better to-morrow," the latter presently remarked. "It's a strange place, and things look uncomfortable to-night—can't well do otherwise. Suppose you and I have a game of chess. Better than to sit brooding over what can't be cured. My little travelling set is somewhere about, I believe."
"O yes." Roy's voice told of instant relief. "You gave it to me to take care of. Don't you mind a game, really? I should like that. Will you give me your queen?"
"No; not to-day. I'm not at my best. We'll try on even terms. Get out the pieces."
Roy obeyed with alacrity, and whatever the move meant to Denham, it served to lift Roy out of his unwonted fit of misery. He was soon deeply absorbed in the mimic fight, and for once he found himself on the way to win an easy victory. Roy became exultant—till the honour and glory of success were impaired by the casual discovery that Ivor could not tell a knight from a bishop except by feeling. Roy stared wonderingly into the spare bronzed face.
"Why, Den!"
"All right; this is my bishop."
"I say, you didn't take that for a knight?"