Clara and her father were both chess-players, and at the time at
which our history begins, Clara had been teaching Madge the game for
about six months.
'Check!' said Clara.
'Check! after about a dozen moves. It is of no use to go on; you
always beat me. I should not mind that if I were any better now than
when I started. It is not in me.'
'The reason is that you do not look two moves ahead. You never say
to yourself, "Suppose I move there, what is she likely to do, and
what can I do afterwards?"'
'That is just what is impossible to me. I cannot hold myself down;
the moment I go beyond the next move my thoughts fly away, and I am
in a muddle, and my head turns round. I was not born for it. I can
do what is under my nose well enough, but nothing more.'
'The planning and the forecasting are the soul of the game. I should
like to be a general, and play against armies and calculate the
consequences of manoeuvres.'
'It would kill me. I should prefer the fighting. Besides,
calculation is useless, for when I think that you will be sure to
move such and such a piece, you generally do not.'
'Then what makes the difference between the good and the bad player?'
'It is a gift, an instinct, I suppose.'
'Which is as much as to say that you give it up. You are very fond
of that word instinct; I wish you would not use it.'
'I have heard you use it, and say you instinctively like this person
or that.'
'Certainly; I do not deny that sometimes I am drawn to a person or
repelled from him before I can say why; but I always force myself to
discover afterwards the cause of my attraction or repulsion, and I
believe it is a duty to do so. If we neglect it we are little better
than the brutes, and may grossly deceive ourselves.'
At this moment the sound of wheels was heard, and Madge jumped up,
nearly over-setting the board, and rushed into the front room. It
was the four-horse coach from London, which, once a day, passed
through Fenmarket on its road to Lincoln. It was not the direct
route from London to Lincoln, but the Defiance went this way to
accommodate Fenmarket and other small towns. It slackened speed in
order to change horses at the 'Crown and Sceptre,' and as Madge stood
at the window, a gentleman on the box-seat looked at her intently as
he passed. In another minute he had descended, and was welcomed by
the landlord, who stood on the pavement. Clara meanwhile had taken
up a book, but before she had read a page, her sister skipped into
the parlour again, humming a tune.