"Magnificent," said Hilda, throwing a last piece of bread into the water.
"So do I," said he. "But she's ruined for tennis, you know. This baby business is spiffing, only it puts you right off your game. As a rule she manages to be hors de combat bang in the middle of the season. She has been able to play a bit this year, but she's not keen--that's what's up with her ladyship--she's not keen now."
"Well," said Hilda. "Even you can't have everything."
"Why 'even' me?" He laughed.
She merely gazed at him with a mysterious smile. She perceived that he was admiring her--probably for her enigmatic quality, so different from Alicia's--and she felt a pleasing self-content.
"Edwin do much tennis nowadays?"
"Edwin?" She repeated the name in astonishment, as though it were the name of somebody who could not possibly be connected with tennis. "Not he! He's not touched a racket all this season. He's quite otherwise employed."
"I hear he's a fearful pot in the Five Towns, anyway," said Harry seriously. "Making money hand over fist."
Hilda raised her eyebrows and shook her head deprecatingly. But the marked respectfulness of Harry's reference to Edwin was agreeable. She thought: "I do believe I'm becoming a snob!"
"It's hard work making money, even in our small way, in Bursley," she said--and seemed to indicate the expensive spaciousness of the gardens.