"Did he what?"
"Er—did he understand—I mean, don't you think your brother may have misunderstood? I can't believe that a wicket-keeper would ever demean himself by using the word 'boil.' Not as you might say boil. 'Cool his head' was probably the expression—it was a very hot day, I remember. And ... ah, there's the music beginning again. Shall we go back?"
I am afraid Miss Dalton's version of the incident was not quite accurate.
What had happened was this: I had stumped the fellow, when he was nearly a mile and a half outside his crease; and when he got back to it some minutes later, and found the umpire's hand up, he was extremely indignant and dramatic about it. Quite to myself, sotto voce as it were, I murmured, "Oh, go home!" and I may have called attention in some way to the "bails." But as to passing any remarks about boiling heads—well, it simply never occurred to me.
I had a dance with Myra shortly after this. She had been so busy and important that I felt quite a stranger. I adapted my conversation accordingly.
"It's a very jolly floor, isn't it?" I said, as I brought her an ice.
"Oh yes!" said Myra in the same spirit.
"Have you been to many floors—I mean dances, lately?"
"Oh yes!"
"So have I. I think dances have been very late lately. I think when the floor's nice it doesn't matter about the ices. Don't you think the band is rather too elastic—I mean keeps very good time? I think so long as the time is good it doesn't matter about the floor."