Volume I Part 11 (1/2)
”Now don't _you_ come to help!” said Miss Broadus, with a thoughtful face and a piece between her finger and thumb.
”Why not?”
”I know!” said Miss Broadus, never taking her eyes from the board which held them as by a charm,--”I can play a sort of a game; but if you take part against me, I shall be vanquished directly.”
”Why should I take part against you?”
Miss Broadus at that laughed a good-humoured little simple laugh.
”Well”--she said, ”it's the course of events, I suppose. I never find anybody taking my part now-a-days. There! I am afraid you have made me place that piece wrong, Mr. Carlisle. I wish you would be still. I cannot fight against two such clever people.”
”Do you find Miss Powle clever?”
”I didn't know she was, so much, before,” said Miss Broadus, ”but she has been playing like a witch this evening. There Eleanor--you are in check.”
Eleanor was equal to that emergency, and relieved her king from danger with a very skilful move. She could keep her wits, though her cheek was high-coloured and her hand had a secret desire to be nervous. Eleanor would not let it; and Mr. Carlisle admired the very pretty fingers which paused quietly upon the chess-men.
”Do not forget a proper regard for the interests of the church, Miss Broadus,” he remarked.
”Why, I never do!” said Miss Broadus. ”What do you mean? Oh, my bishop!--Thank you, Mr. Carlisle.”
Eleanor did not thank him, for the bishop's move shut up her play in a corner. She did her best, but her king's resources were cut off; and after a little shuffling she was obliged to surrender at discretion.
Miss Broadus arose, pleased, and reiterating her thanks to Mr.
Carlisle, and walked away; as conscious that her presence was no more needed in that quarter.
”Will you play with me?” said Mr. Carlisle, taking the chair Miss Broadus had quitted.
”Yes,” said Eleanor, glad of anything to stave off what she dreaded; ”but I am not--”
”I am no match for you,” she was going to say. She stopped suddenly and coloured more deeply.
”What are you not?” asked the gentleman, slowly setting his p.a.w.ns.
”I am not a very good player. I shall hardly give you amus.e.m.e.nt.”
”I am not sorry for that--supposing it true. I do not like to see women good chess-players.”
”Pray why do you not like it?”
”Chess is a game of planning--scheming--contriving--calculating. Women ought not to be adepts in those arts. I hate women that are.”
He glanced up as he spoke, at the fair, frank lines of the face opposite him. No art to scheme was shewn in them; there might be resolution; he liked that. He liked it too that the fringe of the eyes drooped over them, and that the tint of the cheek was so very rich.
”But they say, no one can equal a woman in scheming and planning, if she takes to it,” said Eleanor.
”Try your skill,” said he. ”It is your move.”
The game began, and Eleanor tried to make good play; but she could not bring to it the same coolness or the same ac.u.men that had fought with Miss Broadus. The well-formed, well-knit hand with the coat sleeve belonging to it, which was all of her adversary that came under her observation, distracted Eleanor's thoughts; she could not forget whose it was. Very different from the weak flexile fingers of Miss Broadus, with their hesitating movement and doubtful pauses, these did their work and disappeared; with no doubt or hesitancy of action, and with agile firmness in every line of muscle and play. Eleanor shewed very poor skill for her part, at planning and contriving on this occasion; and she had a feeling that her opponent might have ended the game many a time if he had chosen it. Still the game did not end. It was a very silent one.
”You are playing with me, Mr. Carlisle,” she said at length.
”What are you doing with me?”