CHAPTER III
Clara and her father were both chess-players, and at the time at which our history begins, Clara had been teaching Madge the game for about six months.
‘Check!’ said Clara.
‘Check! after about a dozen moves. It is of no use to go on; you always beat me. I should not mind that if I were any better now than when I started. It is not in me.’
‘The reason is that you do not look two moves ahead. You never say to yourself, “Suppose I move there, what is she likely to do, and what can I do afterwards?”’
‘That is just what is impossible to me. I cannot hold myself down; the moment I go beyond the next move my thoughts fly away, and I am in a muddle, and my head turns round. I was not born for it. I can do what is under my nose well enough, but nothing more.’
‘The planning and the forecasting are the soul of the game. I should like to be a general, and play against armies and calculate the consequences of manœuvres.’
‘It would kill me. I should prefer the fighting. Besides, calculation is useless, for when I think that you will be sure to move such and such a piece, you generally do not.’
‘Then what makes the difference between the good and the bad player?’
‘It is a gift, an instinct, I suppose.’