'I vow she's lovely!' cried the baronet, so emphatically that every one in the room might have heard him. Most of the ladies, doubtless, did, and appropriated the sentiment, but, by-and-by, Netta was triumphant, as he went and sat by her, and complimented her in very audible terms.
She blushed and coquetted very respectably for a country damsel, and wondered whether a poor baronet, or a wealthy miser's son would best help her to humble the pride and condescension of the Nugents and the Rice Rices.
Whilst Lady Mary Nugent was playing, Mr Gwynne very nearly went to sleep, and Rowland Prothero, who liked nothing but chants, and a solemn kind of music that he chose to think befitting a clergyman, was, in his turn, looking over the drawing-room scrap book. Miss Gwynne gave her papa a sly push, and whispered, that she believed Mr Rowland Prothero played chess.
Mr Gwynne aroused himself, and challenged his young neighbour. Miss Gwyne, assisted by all the gentlemen, brought the chess-table, and the game soon began.
There is no doubt that there is nothing in the world more selfish, more absorbing, more disagreeable to every one excepting the players, than chess. Mr Gwynne began his game half asleep; Rowland began his in a very bad temper. The former was glad of anything that could keep him awake, the latter was disgusted at having been made the victim of Miss Gwynne's anxiety to preserve her father from falling fast asleep in the midst of his guests. But, by degrees, the one was thoroughly aroused, and the other forgot his annoyance. Both soon ignored the presence of any human being save himself and his opponent.
Music and talking sounded on all sides, but they made no impression on the chess-players. Lady Mary performed all her most brilliant airs and variations in vain, as far as Mr Gwynne was concerned; and Rowland was even unconscious that Netta had resolutely played through all the small pieces she had learnt at school at the particular request of Sir Hugh Pryse.
'That game will never finish,' at last exclaimed Lady Mary, approaching Mr Gwynne. 'How can any one like chess?'
Mr Gwynne kept his finger on a piece he was about to move, glanced up, but did not speak.
'They tell me you ought to have at least five or six moves in your eye whilst you are making one,' said Sir Hugh. 'For my part, I always find one move at a time more than I can manage. It certainly is the dullest game ever invented.'