"Very well, a competition--provided you promise to fight fair, and not play into each other's hands." They promised, and together we excogitated and rejected all sorts of competitions. The difficulty was to find something in which each would have a fair chance. At length we arranged that they should play a game of chess, the winner to be mated. They agreed it would be a real "match game." The five minutes had by this time lasted half an hour, so I dismissed them, and hastened to feel the pulse of the Bazaar, which was getting more and more feverish as the break-up drew nigh. They played the game in Lord Arthur's study. Lord Arthur was white and the Captain black. Everything was fair and above board. But they played rather slowly. Every evening I sent the butler over to make inquiries. "The Princess's compliments," he was told to say, "and how is it to-day?" "It is getting on," they told him, and he came back with a glad face. He was a kind soul despite his calves, and he thought there was a child dying. Once a week I used to go over and look at it. Ostensibly I called in connection with the Bazaar accounts. I could not see any difference in the position from one week's end to another. There seemed to be a clump of pawns in the middle, with all the other pieces looking idly on; there was no thoroughfare anywhere. They told me it always came like that when you played cautiously. They said it was a French opening. I could not see any opening anywhere; it certainly was not the English way of fighting. Picture my suspense during those horrible weeks. "Is this the way all match-games are played?" I said once. "N-n-o," admitted Lord Arthur. "We for-g-g-ot to p-p-p-ut a t-t-t-t-t-time-limit." "What's the time-limit?" I asked the Captain, wishing my singer could learn to put one to his sentences. "So many moves must be made in an hour--usually fifteen. Otherwise the younger champion would always win, merely by outliving the elder. We forgot to include that condition." At length our butler brought back word that "it couldn't last much longer." His face was grave and he gave the message in low tones. "What a blessing. It's been lingering long enough! I wish they would polish it off," I murmured fretfully. After that I frequently caught him looking at me as if I were Lucrezia Borgia. The end came suddenly. The butler went across to make the usual inquiry. He returned, with a foolish face of horror and whispered, "It is all over. It has been drawn by perpetual check!" "Great Heavens!" I cried. My consternation was so manifest that he forgave the utterance of a peevish moment. I put on my nicest hat at once and went over. We held a council of war afresh. "Let's go by who catches the biggest trout," suggested the Captain. "No," I said. "I will not be angled for. Besides, the biggest is not grammatical. It should be the bigger." Thus reproved, the Captain grew silent and we came to a deadlock once more. I gave up the hunt at last.