Once he came and stood beside her after a very creditable break, and she
slipped a shy hand into his for a few seconds. His fingers closed upon it
in that slow, inevitable way of his, but he neither spoke nor looked at
her, and she had a feeling that his attention never for an instant
wandered from the job in hand. She admired him for his concentration,
yet would she have been less than woman had she not felt slighted by it.
He might have given her one look!

Adela was full of enthusiasm for his opponent, and that also caused her
a vague sense of irritation. She was beginning to feel as if the evening
would never come to an end.

The scoring was by no means slow, however, and the general interest
increased almost to fever pitch as the finish came in sight. Hill's
steady progress in the wake of his opponent seemed at length to
disconcert the latter. He began to play wildly, to attempt impossible
things. His supporters remonstrated without result. He seemed to have
flung away his judgment.

Hill's score mounted till it reached and passed his. They were within
twenty points of the end when Warden suddenly missed an easy stroke. A
noisy groan broke from the onlookers, at which he shrugged his shoulders
and laughed. But Hill turned upon him with a stern reproof.

"You're playing the fool, Warden," he said. "Pull up!"

He spoke with curt command, and the man he addressed looked at him for a
second with raised brows, as if he would take offence. But in a moment he
laughed again.