"If I remember rightly, Northcote," he said, "you're a bit of a dab at this business. I think I'd better play with my sister."
"That's very polite to me," protested Lady Baradell, laughing.
"Don't you worry, Lady Baradell," put in Maurice; "you'll beat them easily. Stuart never loses at anything."
Guessing that in the back of Maurice's mind this last remark referred to my dealings with Francis, I smiled inwardly to myself.
"I'll try and do my best," I said, "but that's rather a large compliment to live up to."
Maurice went out, and, placing the balls, we settled down to the game. Thanks to a really ingenious display of strategy on my part, it provided us with a thrilling contest. I played just well enough to keep our side ahead, without arousing any suspicions that I was not doing my best. York and his sister were both good, steady second-raters, while my partner's contributions consisted of occasional and very dazzling flukes.
It was after one of these that York observed, laughing, "If I didn't know Sir Charles, I should say that you were very unlucky in love."
As he spoke, I was just chalking Lady Baradell's cue and for the fraction of a second her hand touched mine.
"I don't think I am," she said, with a curious smile.
It might have been a coincidence, but somehow or other the incident left me feeling a little uncomfortable. My peace of mind was not restored by observing that on several occasions afterwards, when the others were not looking, Lady Baradell favoured me with a smile which nothing but the most mule-headed modesty could describe as lacking in kindness. It seemed as though I had stumbled all unwittingly into another and exceedingly embarrassing complication.