“Do you know she talks of leaving tomorrow?” said Nap.

“Yes, I know.  Guess she is quite right to go.”

“She’s not fit for it,” said Nap, in a fierce undertone.  “It’s madness.  I told her so.  But she wouldn’t listen.”

“She is the best judge,” his brother said.  “Anyway, she is in an intolerable position.  We can’t press her to prolong it.  Besides—­whatever he is—­her husband has first right.”

“Think so?” said Nap.

“It is so,” Lucas asserted quietly, “whether you admit it or not.”

Nap did not dispute the point, but his jaw looked exceedingly uncompromising as he departed to find the valet.

When a little later he asked for admission to Anne’s presence, however, his bitter mood seemed to have modified.  He entered with the air of one well assured of his welcome.

“Are you in a mood for chess tonight?” he asked.

“Now, you’re not to plague her, Nap,” put in Mrs. Errol.  “She isn’t going to spend her last evening amusing you.”

“Oh, please,” protested Anne.  “It is your son who has had all the amusing to do.”

Nap smiled.  “There’s for you, alma mater!” he remarked as he sat down.

“Lady Carfax is much too forbearing to say anything else,” retorted Mrs. Errol.

“Lady Carfax always tells the truth,” said Nap, beginning to set the chess-board, “which is the exact reason why all her swains adore her.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Errol very deliberately, though without venom, “I guess that’s about the last quality I should expect you to appreciate.”

“Strange to say, it is actually the first just now,” said Nap.  “Are you going, alma mater?  Don’t let me drive you away!”

He rose, nevertheless, to open the door for her; and Mrs. Errol went, somewhat with the air of one complying with an unspoken desire.

Nap came softly back and resumed his task.  “P’r’aps you will be good enough to refrain from referring to me again as the august lady’s son,” he said.  “She doesn’t like it.”

“Why not?” said Anne in astonishment.

He glanced up at her as if contemplating something.  Then, “You see, the benign mother is not over and above proud of me,” he drawled.  “If it were Bertie now—­well, I guess even you will admit that Bertie is the flower of the flock.”

His manner mystified her, but it was not her way to seek to probe mysteries.  She smiled as she said, “I have yet to discover that you are so very despicable.”

“You have yet to discover—­many things,” said Nap enigmatically.  “Will you be pleased to make the first move?”

She did so silently.  They had played together several times before.  He had formed a habit of visiting her every evening, and though her skill at the game was far from great, it had been a welcome diversion from the constant anxiety that pressed so heavily upon her.  Nap was an expert player, yet he seemed to enjoy the poor game which was all she had to offer.  Perhaps he liked to feel her at his mercy.  She strongly suspected that he often deliberately prolonged the contest though he seldom allowed her to beat him.