Her acquaintance with Whitcomb had been very casual heretofore. There had been a few hours in New York and a few hours in Chicago at various times when cousinly amenities were exchanged; and now, as her youthful vitality had reasserted itself, the rôle of vegetable was becoming a frightful bore, and this invasion of the two young men restored an interest in life.
There was a level plain back of Miss Benslow's house and Madge had discovered signs that previous boarders had essayed to play tennis there. She led Whitcomb to it now.
"Don't you think we might fix it up?" she asked.
He looked dubiously at the tufts of grass. "And crack a few tendons over these hummocks?" he suggested. "Do you play much?"
Her dark eyes gave him a provocative glance. "I might surprise you," she drawled.
"Good enough. It will be better than nothing."
"Which? A girl antagonist or the court?"
"I'll tell you that later."
"Then go and ask Luella for a scythe and a lawn mower. Let's begin right off. I'm aching to play."
"Don't believe I can this afternoon," returned Whitcomb, rather consciously. "I ought to go over to Miss Barry's and call the first thing."