The game proceeded. Elfride played by rote; Stephen by thought.
It was the cruellest thing to checkmate him after so much labour,
she considered. What was she dishonest enough to do in her
compassion? To let him checkmate her. A second game followed; and
being herself absolutely indifferent as to the result (her playing
was above the average among women, and she knew it), she allowed
him to give checkmate again. A final game, in which she adopted
the Muzio gambit as her opening, was terminated by Elfride's
victory at the twelfth move.
Stephen looked up suspiciously. His heart was throbbing even more
excitedly than was hers, which itself had quickened when she
seriously set to work on this last occasion. Mr. Swancourt had
left the room.
'You have been trifling with me till now!' he exclaimed, his face
flushing. 'You did not play your best in the first two games?'
Elfride's guilt showed in her face. Stephen became the picture of
vexation and sadness, which, relishable for a moment, caused her
the next instant to regret the mistake she had made.
'Mr. Smith, forgive me!' she said sweetly. 'I see now, though I
did not at first, that what I have done seems like contempt for
your skill. But, indeed, I did not mean it in that sense. I
could not, upon my conscience, win a victory in those first and
second games over one who fought at such a disadvantage and so
manfully.'
He drew a long breath, and murmured bitterly, 'Ah, you are
cleverer than I.
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