Upon this Mr. Gower rolls himself over in the rug, and covers his head. It is plain that answers are not to be got out of _him_. "Did I say that?" says Tita, appealing to Sir Maurice. "I hope not," returns he, laughing. "Certainly I did not hear it." "And certainly he didn't either," says Tita with decision. "After that," says Gower, unrolling himself, "I shall retire from public life; I shall give myself up to"--he pauses and looks round; a favourite ladies' paper is lying on the ground near him--"to literature." He turns over on his side, and apparently becomes engrosses in it. "Have you been playing, Maurice?" asks Mrs. Bethune presently. Her tone is cold. That little speech of his to Tita, uttered some time ago, "I hope not," had angered her. "No," returns he as coldly. He is on one of his uncertain moods with regard to her. Distrust, disbelief, a sense of hopelessness--all are troubling him. "What a shame, Sir Maurice!" says Mrs. Chichester, leaning forward. As I have hinted, she would have flirted with a broomstick. "And you, who are our champion player." "I'll play now if you will play with me," says Sir Maurice gallantly. "A safe answer," looking at him with a pout, and through half-closed lids. She finds that sort of glance effective sometimes. "You know I don't play." "Not _that_ game," says Mr. Gower, who never can resist a thrust. "I thought you were reading your paper," says Mrs. Chichester sharply. "Come, what's in it? I don't believe," scornfully, "you are reading it at all." "I am, however," says Mr. Gower. "These ladies' papers are so full of information. I'm quite enthralled just now. I've got on to the Exchange and Mart business, and it's too exciting for _words_. Just listen to this: 'Two dozen old tooth-brushes (in _good_ preservation) would be exchanged for a gold bangle (_unscratched_). Would not be sent on approval (mind, it must not be set _scratched!_ good old toothbrushes!) without deposit of ten shillings. Address, 'Chizzler, office of this paper.'" "It isn't true. I don't believe a word of it," says Tita, making a snatch at the paper. "My dear girl, why not? Two dozen old toothbrushes. _Old_ toothbrushes, you notice. Everything old now goes for a large sum, except," thoughtfully, "aunts." He casts a lingering glance round, but providentially Miss Gower has disappeared. "But toothbrushes! Show me that paper." "Do you, then, disbelieve in my word?" "Nobody could want a toothbrush." "Some people want them awfully," says Mr. Gower. "Haven't you noticed?" But here Sir Maurice sees it his duty to interfere. "Miss Bolton, will you play this next set with me?" says he, coming up to Tita. "Oh, I should _love_ it!" cries she. "You are so good a player. Do get us some decent people to play against, though; I hate a weak game." "Well, come, we'll try and manage it," says he, amused at her enthusiasm. They move away together. CHAPTER VI.