"No," returns he as coldly.

He is on one of his uncertain moods with regard to her. Distrust,
disbelief, a sense of hopelessness--all are troubling him.

"What a shame, Sir Maurice!" says Mrs. Chichester, leaning forward.
As I have hinted, she would have flirted with a broomstick. "And
you, who are our champion player."

"I'll play now if you will play with me," says Sir Maurice
gallantly.

"A safe answer," looking at him with a pout, and through half-closed
lids. She finds that sort of glance effective sometimes. "You know I
don't play."

"Not _that_ game," says Mr. Gower, who never can resist a thrust.

"I thought you were reading your paper," says Mrs. Chichester
sharply. "Come, what's in it? I don't believe," scornfully, "you are
reading it at all."

"I am, however," says Mr. Gower. "These ladies' papers are so full
of information. I'm quite enthralled just now. I've got on to the
Exchange and Mart business, and it's too exciting for _words_. Just
listen to this: 'Two dozen old tooth-brushes (in _good_
preservation) would be exchanged for a gold bangle (_unscratched_).
Would not be sent on approval (mind, it must not be set _scratched!_
good old toothbrushes!) without deposit of ten shillings. Address,
'Chizzler, office of this paper.'"