“I do hope you’ll let him come and see you this vacation,” Lady Stilton said.
“Oh, rather. I shall be awfully keen to talk about the cricket round here,” Alan replied. “I’m just planning out a new pitch now.”
“How delightful all this is,” thought Michael, with visions of summer evenings.
Soon Lady Stilton and her daughter went away, having plainly been a great success with Mr. and Mrs. Prescott-Merivale.
“Of course, you’ve got to marry Anne,” said Stella to Michael, as soon as they were comfortably round the great fire in the library.
“Alan,” Michael appealed. “Is it impossible for you to nip now forever this bud of matchmaking?”
“I think it’s rather a good idea,” said Alan. “I knew young Varley by sight. He’s a very sound bat.”
“I shan’t come here again,” Michael threatened, “until you’ve dissolved this alliance of mutual admiration. Instead of agreeing with Stella to marry me to every girl you meet, why don’t you devote yourself to the task of making Huntingdon a first-class county in cricket? Stella might captain the team.”
Time passed very pleasantly with long walks and rides and drives, with long evenings of cut-throat bridge and Schumann; but on New Year’s morning Michael said he must go back to London. Nor would he let himself be deterred by Stella’s gibes.
“I admit you’re as happy as you can be,” he said. “Now surely you, after so much generosity on my side, will admit that I may know almost as well as yourselves how to make myself happy, though not yet married.”