They were to play a tennis match that day, Rhoda and Walter against Nan and Grace, and naturally they all had set their hearts upon winning. Bess had begged off on the ground that it was too warm to play.
It was a glorious morning for the sport, sunshiny and clear, yet cool, and the girls forgot their restless night as they stepped out upon the court.
It was not till they started to "warm up" and Nan wound up for her usual swift serve that they had an inkling of the thing that was to spoil the fun for that morning, at least.
Nan struck weakly at the ball, which landed ignominiously in the net and then dropped her racket with a little cry of pain. The girls and Walter ran to her anxiously, Walter jumping the net and scooping up the ball as he came.
"What is the matter, Nan Sherwood?" Bess wanted to know. "That's the funniest ball I ever saw you serve."
"It's my wrist," said Nan apologetically. "It turned just at the wrong minute. I don't seem to have any power in it."
"Let me see," Walter demanded masterfully, and as he held her little wrist in his hand Nan noticed that it was red and swollen.
"Oh-h!" she said impulsively, "that must be where the man grabbed me so tight yesterday. I'm dreadfully sorry to spoil your game," she added, thinking, as always, more of every one else than of herself.
"Hang the old game," said Walter explosively. "We can play that any time. But if I could get my hands on that—that——"