"I am afraid not," I answered. "Cricket is a serious thing in this country, you know. If you are chosen to play and commence in the match, you must go through with it. Surely you have met with something of the same sort of thing in the football matches in America!"
"I have never been interested in such things," she said. "I suppose that is why I have never realized their importance. I am afraid, Mr. Courage—"
"Well?"
She lifted her eyes to mine. What a color!—and what a depth. Then I knew, as though by inspiration, how it was that I found myself passing into bondage. Cold she might seem, and self-engrossed! It was because the right chord had never been struck. Some day another light should shine in those wonderful eyes. I saw her before me transformed, saw color in her still, marble cheeks, saw her lips drift into a softer curve, heard the tremor of passion in her quiet, languid tone.
"Do you know that you are staring at me?" she remarked, calmly.
I apologized profusely.
"It is a bad habit of mine," I assured her. "I was looking—beyond."
There was real interest then in her face. She leaned a little forward. Perhaps it was my fancy, but I thought that she seemed to regard me differently.
"How interesting!" she said. "Do you know I had not given you credit for much imagination. You must tell me what you saw!"
"Impossible!" I declared.