They played three games. Miss Field won the first and third, her antagonist contenting himself with the second. It had always been so, and for ten years she had taken a childish delight in her skill. "My dear Doctor," she often said, "it takes a woman of brains to play chess." "It does, indeed," he invariably answered, with an air of gallantry. Once he had been indiscreet and had won all three games, but that was in the beginning and it had never happened since. When the clock struck ten, he looked at his heavy, old-fashioned silver watch with apparent surprise. "I had no idea it was so late," he said. "I must be going!" "Pray wait a moment, Doctor. Let me offer you some refreshment before you begin that long walk. Iris?" "Yes, Aunt Peace." The girl knew very well what was expected of her, and dimples came and went around the corners of her mouth. "Those little cakes that we had for tea--perhaps there may be one or two left, and is there not a little wine?" "I'll see." Smiling at the pretty comedy, she went out into the kitchen, where Doctor Brinkerhoff's favourite cakes, freshly made, had been carefully put away. Only one of them had been touched, and that merely to make sure of the quality. With the Royal Worcester plate, generously piled with cakes, a tray of glasses, and a decanter of Miss Field's famous port, she went back into the parlour. "This is very charming," said the Doctor. He had made the same speech once a week for ten years. Aunt Peace filled the glasses, and when all had been served, she looked at him with a rare smile upon her beautiful old face. Then the brim of his glass touched hers with the clear ring of crystal. "To your good health, madam!" "And to your prosperity," she returned. The old toast still served. "And now, my dear Miss Iris," he said, "may we not hope for a song?" "Which one?" "'Annie Laurie,' if you please." She sang the old ballad with a wealth of feeling in her deep voice, and even Lynn, who was listening critically, was forced to admit that she did it well. At eleven, the guest went away, his hostess cordially inviting him to come again. "What a charming man," said Margaret. "An old brick," added Lynn, with more force than elegance. "Yes," replied Aunt Peace, concealing a yawn behind her fan, "it is a thousand pities that he has no social position." V The Light of Dreams "How do you get on with the Master?" asked Iris. "After a fashion," answered Irving; "but I do not get on with Fraeulein Fredrika at all. She despises me." "She does not like many people." "So it would seem. I have been unfortunate from the first, though I was careful to admire 'mine crazy jug.'" "It is the apple of her eye," laughed Iris, "it means to her just what his Cremona means to him." "It is a wonderful creation, and I told her so, but where in the dickens did she get the idea?" "Don't ask me. Did you happen to notice anything else?"