"This is terrible," said Myra, putting her hand to her heart. "A hundred and—shall I tell them?—a—a—Oh, dear—a—hundredandthirtyeight."
"Golly," said Thomas, "you've got one for it. We did a hundred and forty."
"We did a hundred and forty-two," said Archie. "Close play at the
Oval."
"Oh," said Myra to me, "DO be careful. Oh, but no," she went on quickly, "I don't mind a bit really if we lose. It's only a game. Besides, we—"
"You forget the little pot of home-made marmalade," I said reproachfully. "Dahlia, what ARE the prizes? Because it's just possible that Myra might like the second one better than the first. In that case I should miss this."
"Go on," whispered Myra.
I went on. There was a moment's silence—and then a deep sigh from
Myra.
"How about it?" I said calmly.
Loud applause.
"Well," said Dahlia, "you and Myra make a very good couple. I suppose I must find a prize for you."