Mr Prothero inquired anxiously of his wife, when he had cooled a little, whether he had really hurt Netta when he took hold of her arm; to which Mrs Prothero replied with unusual severity, 'No, perhaps it had been better if you had; she wanted some trial or punishment to bring down her proud spirit.' In the course of the evening, a little before Mr and Mrs Jonathan left Glanyravon to return home, Miss Gwynne came to inquire for the poor Irish girl.

She joined the party in the parlour for a short time, and gave a message from her father to Rowland, to the effect that he was very anxious for another game of chess, and begged him to come and dine at the Park on the morrow.

Of course Rowland was only too happy, and the rest of the party too proud.
'Papa is disgusted at your having beaten him the other night,' said Miss Gwynne to Rowland.
'I think Mr Gwynne got tired,' said Rowland modestly.
'What affectation,' thought Miss Gwynne, as she said, 'oh, no! he says you are the best player.' 'I disclaim that entirely,' said Rowland.

'I merely beat two games out of three, and we had not time for another.' Rowland had been, according to promise, to dine and play chess with Mr Gwynne; Miss Gwynne had dined with them, but had left them after dinner to follow their own devices, whilst she had followed hers, and did not reappear during the evening.

Mr Gwynne had reproached her for her absence, and she had declared that she hated to be so long without talking, and that chess and young Prothero were perfect antidotes to conversation.
'That ancient, Saracenic game, as Mr Jonathan Prothero calls it, played by a Goth,' she said, 'is beyond my store of politeness.' Mrs Prothero and Miss Gwynne went to see the poor Irish girl; they found her rather better, and able to speak to them with some degree of composure.