She was beaten, but she did not know it.
"A double game!" she said, triumphantly. "A double game! Gammon!"
The rector smiled indulgently.
Finch felt himself sinking beneath a cloud.
"But, my grandmother," cried Wakefield, "you're beaten! Don't you know when you're beaten?"
"Me beaten? Not a bit of it. I won't have it! I've won." She was staring straight ahead of her into Finch's eyes. "Gammon!"
Mr. Fennel began gathering up the men.
"Another game?" he asked. "You may make it backgammon, this time."
She did not answer.
Wakefield nudged her shoulder. "Another game, Gran?"
"I'm afraid she's a little tired," said Mr. Fennel.
But she was still smiling, looking straight into Finch's eyes. Her eyes were saying to him: "A Court afraid? A Court afraid of death? Gammon!"
Again Boney shook himself, and another feather fluttered to the floor.
Nicholas had risen to his feet, and was looking across the room. Suddenly he shouted: "Mother!"
They were all on their feet, except Wakefield, who still hung on her shoulder, realizing nothing.
Her head sank.
Finch watched them as they gathered about her, raising her head, holding smelling-salts to her long nose, forcing brandy between her blanched lips, wringing their hands, being frightened, half-demented. He had seen her spirit, staunch and stubborn, leave the body. He knew it was futile to try to recall it.
Boney watched the scene with one detached yellow eye, apparently unmoved, but when they carried her to the sofa and laid her on it, he left his perch with a distracted tumble of wings and fluttered on to her prostrate body, screaming: "Nick! Nick! Nick!" It was the first time he had ever been known to utter a word of English.
