ed to play once," she admitted slowly. "I can't very
well indulge in a game nowadays. Even the grownup Cherry declines to
play, though I hope in time I may incite her to learn!"

"I used to play--indifferently--once," Anstice said meditatively; and
Chloe looked at him with a faint smile.

"Did you? Some day when you are not too busy will you drop in to tea and
play a game with me?"

"I'd like to immensely." His tone was sincere, and Chloe's manner warmed
ever so little.

"Can you stay now?" The hour was just on five; and Cherry, who had that
day been promoted to tea downstairs, seconded the invitation as usual
from her nest on the big Chesterfield.

"Do stay, my dear, and I'll help you to move all the funny little men
and the castles!"

Anstice could not refuse this double invitation; and after a hasty cup
of tea he and his hostess sat down to the board and set out the ancient
ivory chessmen which were so well suited to the pretty, old-fashioned
room in which the players sat.

To Anstice's quite unjustifiable surprise Chloe Carstairs played an
admirable game. Her moves were clearly reasoned out, and she displayed a
quickness of thought, a brilliance of man[oe]uvre, which soon convinced
Anstice he was outplayed.

At the end of fifteen minutes Chloe had vanquished him completely; and
while most of his men were reposing in the carved box at her elbow, the
ranks of her army were scarcely thinned.

"I give in, Mrs. Carstairs!" He laughed and rose. "You won't think me
unsporting if I run away now? I'm beat hollow, and I know it, but if you
will condescend to play with me another day----"

"I shall look forward to another game," she said serenely; and Anstice
departed, feeling he had been permitted to obtain another sidelight on
her somewhat complex character.

Two days later he made another and rather disconcerting discovery, which
set him wondering afresh as to the real nature of the woman who, like
himself, had been the victim of a strangely vindictive fate.

The day was Sunday, and Cherry had been permitted the indulgence of
breakfast in bed; so that Anstice interviewed his young patient in her
own pink-and-white nest, where, attended by the faithful Tochatti, she
gave herself innumerable airs and graces, but finally allowed him to
examine her small arm, which was now practically healed.

"Mrs. Carstairs not up yet?" It was ten o'clock--but there was no sign
of Cherry's mother.

"Yes, sir." Tochatti spoke