“Leave her alone,” said Marmaduke to Marian, who was about to call the child. “Petting babies is not in Douglas’s line: she will only bore him.” “Not at all,” said Douglas. “It does not matter whether she bores him or not,” said Marian. “He must learn to take a proper interest in children. Lucy: come here.” Lucy stopped playing, and said, “What for?” “Because I ask you to, dear,” said Marian, gently. The child considered for a while, and then resumed her play. Miss McQuinch laughed. Marmaduke muttered impatiently, and went down the garden. Lucy did not perceive him until he was within a few steps of her, when she gave a shrill cry of surprise, and ran to the other side of a flower-bed too wide for him to spring across. He gave chase; but she, with screams of laughter, avoided him by running to and fro so as to keep on the opposite side to him. Feeling that it was undignified to dodge his child thus, he stopped and bade her come to him; but she only laughed the more. He called her in tones of command, entreaty, expostulation, and impatience. At last he shouted to her menacingly. She placed her thumbnail against the tip of her nose; spread her fingers; and made him a curtsy. He uttered an imprecation, and returned angrily to the house, saying, between his teeth: “Let her stay out, since she chooses to be obstinate.” “She is really too bad to-day,” said Marian. “I am quite shocked at her.” “She is quite right not to come in and be handed round for inspection like a doll,” said Elinor. “She is very bold not to come when she is told,” said Marian. “Yes, from your point of view,” said Elinor. “I like bold children.” Marmaduke was sulky and Marian serious for some time after this incident. They recovered their spirits at dinner, when Marian related to Douglas how she had become reconciled to his mother. Afterward, Marmaduke suggested a game at whist. “Oh no, not on Sunday,” said Marian. “Whist is too wicked.” “Then what the dickens _may_ we do?” said Marmaduke. “May Nelly play _écarté_ with me?” “Well, please dont play for money. And dont sit close to the front window.” “Come along, then, Nell. You two may sing hymns, if you like.” “I wish you could sing, Sholto,” said Marian. “It is an age since we last had a game of chess together. Do you still play?” “Yes,” said Douglas; “I shall be delighted. But I fear you will beat me now, as I suppose you have been practising with Mr. Conolly.” “Playing with Ned! No: he hates chess. He says it is a foolish expedient for making idle people believe they are doing something very clever when they are only wasting their time. He actually grumbled about the price of the table and the pieces; but I insisted on having them, I suppose in remembrance of you.” “It is kind of you to say that, Marian. Will you have black or white?” “White, please, unless you wish me to be always making moves with your men.” “Now. Will you move?”