He raised his eyes, and looked at her apparel and at her flowers, but not at her face: “Ay, she is fine,” he said, and returned to the chess. “We have been gathering snowdrops,” said Lettie, fingering the flowers in her bosom. “They are pretty—give me some, will you?” said Alice, holding out her hand. Lettie gave her the flowers. “Check!” said George deliberately. “Get out!” replied his opponent, “I’ve got some snowdrops—don’t they suit me, an innocent little soul like me? Lettie won’t wear them—she’s not meek and mild and innocent like me. Do you want some?” “If you like—what for?” “To make you pretty, of course, and to show you an innocent little meekling.” “You’re in check,” he said. “Where can you wear them?—there’s only your shirt. Aw!—there!”—she stuck a few flowers in his ruffled black hair—“Look, Lettie, isn’t he sweet?” Lettie laughed with a strained little laugh: “He’s like Bottom and the ass’s head,” she said. “Then I’m Titania—don’t I make a lovely fairy queen, Bully Bottom?—and who’s jealous Oberon?” “He reminds me of that man in Hedda Gabler—crowned with vine leaves—oh, yes, vine leaves,” said Emily. “How’s your mare’s sprain, Mr. Tempest?” George asked, taking no notice of the flowers in his hair. “Oh—she’ll soon be all right, thanks.” “Ah—George told me about it,” put in the father, and he held Leslie in conversation. “Am I in check, George?” said Alice, returning to the game. She knitted her brows and cogitated: “Pooh!” she said, “that’s soon remedied!”—she moved her piece, and said triumphantly, “Now, Sir!” He surveyed the game, and, with deliberation moved. Alice pounced on him; with a leap of her knight she called “check!” “I didn’t see it—you may have the game now,” he said. “Beaten, my boy!—don’t crow over a woman any more. Stale-mate—with flowers in your hair!” He put his hand to his head, and felt among his hair, and threw the flowers on the table. “Would you believe it——!” said the mother, coming into the room from the dairy. “What?” we all asked. “Nickie Ben’s been and eaten the sile cloth. Yes! When I went to wash it, there sat Nickie Ben gulping, and wiping the froth off his whiskers.” George laughed loudly and heartily. He laughed till he was tired. Lettie looked and wondered when he would be done. “I imagined,” he gasped, “how he’d feel with half a yard of muslin creeping down his throttle.” This laughter was most incongruous. He went off into another burst. Alice laughed too—it was easy to infect her with laughter. Then the father began—and in walked Nickie Ben, stepping disconsolately—we all roared again, till the rafters shook. Only Lettie looked impatiently for the end. George swept his bare arms across the table, and the scattered little flowers fell broken to the ground. “Oh—what a shame!” exclaimed Lettie. “What?” said he, looking round. “Your flowers? Do you feel sorry for them?—you’re too tender hearted; isn’t she, Cyril?” “Always was—for dumb animals, and things,” said I.