"I don't know," said Eva. "I have not seen them all the afternoon."
"I have," said George. "They are in the shrubbery."
"You might call them, dear boy," said his fond mother.
"Not I," said George.
"I will," said Eva, and ran down the flower-bordered path swinging her racket.
"Sweet girl," said Mrs. Mulholland, following Eva's slim silhouette with benevolent eyes, and then gazing even more benevolently at George Whitaker's stalwart figure. "She and my Kitty should really see something more of each other."
Mrs. Whitaker threw a penetrating glance at her friend's profile. "Schemer," she murmured to herself. "Certainly," she said aloud. "As soon as George goes to Aldershot I hope your dear daughter will often come here."
"Cat," reflected Mrs. Mulholland. And aloud she said, "How delightful for both the dear girls!"
George had sauntered with his long khaki limbs towards the shrubbery, but Eva reappeared alone.
"They won't come," she said.