oked round brightly and pleasantly at Miss Hall. Freda could
not help noticing the sudden animation in a face that she had considered
a minute ago almost heavy.

'When are we to have our game at chess?' interrupted Mr Gwynne. 'The
poor of London is a subject I quite dread to hear discussed, it is so
hopeless. One can do no good, and what is the use of tormenting oneself
about it here in Wales.'

'Oh, papa! they want very decided measures; plenty of police, active
magistrates, and I don't know what besides,' said Freda.

'Would you allow me to supply what you have omitted?' asked Rowland;
'they want Christian sympathy, Christian teaching, brotherly kindness,
and the aid of the rich and powerful.'

Freda considered Rowland's finale to her sentence impertinent and was
about to take up the defence of her magisterial system very warmly,
when she met a glance so earnest and appealing, and withal so beautiful
in its earnestness, that she could not find in her heart to answer it by
a hard look or word; so, for want of better reply, she went to prepare
the chess-table.

'I wish you joy of that Saracenic game,' she said ironically, as her
father and Rowland sat down to chess, not perhaps quite by the wish of
one of the pair.

'I thought you liked chess, Freda?' said Miss Hall.

'Oh, pretty well, when I can get any one who does not beat me. I hate so
to lose a game that I think it is better not to play at all than to run
the risk of feeling in a passion, and not being able to give vent to
it.'

'Perhaps the better plan would be to control the passion,' said Miss
Hall.

'Impossible! I am sure it must be just such a feeling as a good general
would have if he lost a battle, after having done his best to win it.'

'I suppose the best general is always the calmest, both in victory and
defeat,' murmured Rowland, without taking his eyes from his men.

'If you would oblige me by not talking,' said Mr Gwynne nervously; 'I
can never play if my opponent talks.'

'I beg your pardon,' said Rowland; 'I know it is very disagreeable.'

'Are you too tired to visit some of your old haunts, Serenita?' said
Freda. 'By the way that would be a good name for Mr Prothero's ideal
general.'

'Not quite,' began Rowland, but was silent in a moment.

'My dear Freda, are you going out? I really am sorry to stop your
amusement, and so forth, but I cannot play,' said Mr Gwynne.

'Exactly, papa; we will go directly if Miss Hall likes.'

The