“Perhaps.”
“No. Promise!”
“Well—it must be right. Yes, I will.”
“I feel the better for our talk, Miss Bellairs, don’t you?”
“I do a little.”
“We shall be friends now, you know; even if I bring it off I shan’t be content unless you do too. Won’t you give me your good wishes?”
“Indeed I will.”
“Shake hands on it.”
They shook hands and began to stroll back to the tennis-courts.
“They look a little better,” observed Sir Roger Deane, who had been listening to an eloquent description of the gaming-tables.