Lala Roy just then found himself in presence of a most beautiful problem—white to move and checkmate in three moves. Mr. Emblem found the meshes of fate closing round him earlier than usual, and both bent their heads closely over the table.
"Checkmate!" said Lala Roy. "My friend, you have played badly this evening."
"I have played badly," Mr. Emblem replied, "because to-morrow will be an important day for Iris, and for myself. A day, Iris, that I have been looking forward to for eighteen years, ever since I got your father's last letter, written upon his death-bed. It seems a long time, but like a lifetime," said the old man of seventy-five, "it is as nothing when it is gone. Eighteen years, and you were a little thing of three, child!"
"What is going to happen to me, grandfather, except that I shall be twenty-one?"
"We shall see to-morrow. Patience, my dear—patience."
He spread out his hands and laughed. What was going to happen to himself was a small thing compared with the restoration of Iris to her own.
"Mr. Emblem," said Arnold, "I also have something of importance to say."
"You, too, Mr. Arbuthnot? Cannot yours wait also until to-morrow?"
"No; it is too important. It cannot wait an hour."
"Well, sir"—Mr. Emblem pushed up his spectacles and leaned back in his chair—"well, Mr. Arbuthnot, let us have it."