Mr. Hurd was looking not altogether comfortable.
“It is the young man who wanted to preach,” he answered.
Wilhelmina frowned.
“Why is he playing?” she asked. “He has nothing to do with Thorpe.”
“He came down to see them practise a few evenings ago, and Antill asked him,” the agent answered. “If I had known earlier I would have stopped it.”
Wilhelmina did not immediately reply. She was watching the young man who stood now at the wicket, bat in hand. In his flannels, he seemed a very different person from the missioner whose request a few days ago had so much offended her. Nevertheless, her lip curled as she saw the terrible Mills prepare to deliver his first ball.
“That sort of person,” she remarked, “is scarcely likely to be much good at games. Oh!”
Her exclamation was repeated in various forms from all over the field. Macheson had hit his first ball high over their heads, and a storm of applause broke from the bystanders. The batsman made no attempt to run.
“What is that?” Wilhelmina asked.
“A boundary—magnificent drive,” Mr. Hurd answered excitedly. “By Jove, another!”