she utters a little pooh!
but not the ghost of a pawn can she take in retaliation.

Ten minutes pass: he takes another pawn and says, 'Check!' She flushes,
extricates herself by capturing his bishop, and looks triumphant. He
immediately takes her bishop: she looks surprised.

Five minutes longer: she makes a dash and takes his only remaining
bishop; he replies by taking her only remaining knight.

Two minutes: he gives check; her mind is now in a painful state of
tension, and she shades her face with her hand.

Yet a few minutes more: he takes her rook and checks again. She
literally trembles now lest an artful surprise she has in store for him
shall be anticipated by the artful surprise he evidently has in store
for her.

Five minutes: 'Checkmate in two moves!' exclaims Elfride.

'If you can,' says Knight.

'Oh, I have miscalculated; that is cruel!'

'Checkmate,' says Knight; and the victory is won.

Elfride arose and turned away without letting him see her face. Once in
the hall she ran upstairs and into her room, and flung herself down upon
her bed, weeping bitterly.

'Where is Elfride?' said her father at luncheon.

Knight listened anxiously for the answer. He had been hoping to see her
again before this time.

'She isn't well, sir,' was the reply.

Mrs. Swancourt rose and left the room, going upstairs to Elfride's
apartment.

At the door was Unity, who occupied in the new establishment a position
between young lady's maid and middle-housemaid.

'She is sound asleep, ma'am,' Unity whispered.

Mrs. Swancourt opened the door. Elfride was lying full-dressed on the
bed, her face hot and red, her arms thrown abroad. At intervals of a
minute she tossed restlessly from side to side, and indistinctly moaned
words used in the game of chess.

Mrs. Swancourt had a turn for doctoring, and felt her pulse. It was
twanging like a harp-string, at the rate of nearly a hundred and fifty
a minute. Softly moving the sleeping girl to a little less cramped
position, she went downstairs again.

'She is asleep now,' said Mrs. Swancourt. 'She does not seem very well.
Cousin Knight, what were you thinking of? her tender brain won't bear
cudgelling like your great head. You should have strictly forbidden her
to play again.'

In truth, the essayist's experience of the nature of young women was
far less extensive than his abstract knowledge of them led himself and
others to believe. He could pack them into sentences l