Wilhelmina beckoned to the footman to come round to the side of the carriage.
“James,” she said, “do you know what all this means?”
She waved her hand towards the cricket pitch, the umpires with their white coats, the tent and the crowd of spectators. The man touched his hat.
“It is a cricket match, madam,” he answered, “between Thorpe and Nesborough.”
Wilhelmina looked once more towards the field, and recognized Mr. Hurd upon his stout little cob.
“Go and tell Mr. Hurd to come and speak to me,” she ordered.
The man hastened off. Mr. Hurd had not once turned his head. His eyes were riveted upon the game. The groom found it necessary to touch him on the arm before he could attract his attention. Even when he had delivered his message, the agent waited until the finish of the over before he moved. Then he cantered his pony up to the waiting carriage. Wilhelmina greeted him graciously.
“I want to know about the cricket match, Mr. Hurd,” she asked, smiling.
Mr. Hurd wheeled his pony round so that he could still watch the game.
“I am afraid that we are going to be beaten, madam,” he said dolefully. “Nesborough made a hundred and ninety-eight, and we have six wickets down for fifty.”