Ah, how beautiful the Weald looked!
But now Cecil claimed her. He chanced to be in a lucid critical
mood, and would not sympathize with exaltation. He had been
rather a nuisance all through the tennis, for the novel that he
was reading was so bad that he was obliged to read it aloud to
others. He would stroll round the precincts of the court and call
out: "I say, listen to this, Lucy. Three split infinitives."
"Dreadful!" said Lucy, and missed her stroke. When they had
finished their set, he still went on reading; there was some
murder scene, and really every one must listen to it. Freddy and
Mr. Floyd were obliged to hunt for a lost ball in the laurels,
but the other two acquiesced.
"The scene is laid in Florence."
"What fun, Cecil! Read away. Come, Mr. Emerson, sit down after
all your energy." She had "forgiven" George, as she put it, and
she made a point of being pleasant to him.
He jumped over the net and sat down at her feet asking: "You--and
are you tired?"
"Of course I'm not!"
"Do you mind being beaten?"
She was going to answer, "No," when it struck her that she did
mind, so she answered, "Yes.
Pages:
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290