‘My busy Penelope, don’t you think you night rest from your labours now that Ulysses is safe at home, and the suitors are all put to flight?’ asked Gerald, looking admiringly at the industrious hands. ‘You have no idea how horribly idle you make me feel.’ ‘I think idleness is the privilege of your sex, Gerald; but it would be the penalty of ours. I am wretched without some kind of work.’ ‘Another case of misdirected energy,’ sighed Gerald, throwing himself lazily back against the India-matting dado, and clasping his hands above his head, as he watched the antagonists. Daphne was playing as if her life depended on her victory. Her slim figure was braced like a young athlete’s, every muscle of the round white arm defined under her muslin sleeve—the bare supple wrist and delicate hand looking as strong as steel. She moved round the table with the swift lightness of some wild thing of the woods—graceful, shy, untamable, half savage, yet wholly beautiful. Edgar Turchill went on all the while in his businesslike way, playing with either hand, and behaving just as coolly as if he had been playing against Sir Vernon. Yet every now and then, when it was Daphne’s turn to play, he fell into a dreamy contemplative mood, and stood on one side watching her as if she were something too wonderful to be quite human. ‘There’s a stroke!’ he cried, as she left him tight under the cushion, with nothing to play for. ‘I taught her. Oughtn’t I to be proud of such a pupil?’ ‘You taught me sculling, and lawn-tennis, and billiards,’ said Daphne, considering what she should do next. ‘All I have ever learnt worth knowing.’ ‘Daphne!’ murmured Madoline, looking up reproachfully from her ivory needles. ‘I say it advisedly,’ argued Daphne, making another score. ‘Edgar, I am not at all sure you are marking honestly. Mr. Goring would mark for us if he were not too lazy.’ ‘Not too lazy,’ murmured Gerald languidly, ‘but too delightfully occupied in watching you. I would not spoil my pleasure by mixing it with business for the world.’ ‘What is the use of book-learning?’ continued Daphne, going on with her argument. ‘I maintain that Edgar has taught me all I know worth knowing, for he has taught me how to be happy. I adore the river; I doat upon billiards; and next best after billiards I like lawn-tennis. Do you suppose I shall ever be happier for having learnt French grammar, or the Rule of Three!’ ‘Daphne, you are the most inconsistent person I ever met with,’ said Madoline, almost angry. ‘Only this morning you wanted to go back to school to finish your education.’ ‘Did she?’ asked Gerald, suddenly attentive. ‘That was all nonsense,’ exclaimed Daphne, colouring violently. Mr. Turchill laughed heartily at the idea.