"How did you play? You ought to be rather a dab at it."
"I played very well and was in the second eleven. But I don't care about it. It's all right at school, but there are better things to do in the holidays."
"If you're a good cricketer, you might get some matches. Your father is a very good cricketer, and would have played for the county if he'd been able to practise enough. And Mister Roberts at the mill is a splendid player."
His nervous face twitched and his instant passion ran into his whip hand. He gave the astonished pony a lash and made it start across the road, so that Estelle was nearly thrown from her seat.
"Don't! Don't!" she said. "What's the matter?"
But she knew.
He showed his teeth.
"I won't hear his name—I won't hear it. I hate him, I hate him. Take the reins—I'll walk. You've spoilt everything now. I always wish he was dead when I hear his name, and I wish he was dead this minute."
"My dear Abel, I'm sorry. I didn't think you felt so bad as that about him. He doesn't feel at all like that about you."
"I hate him, I tell you, and I'm not the only one that hates him. And I don't care what he feels about me. He's my greatest enemy on earth, and people who understand have told me so, and I won't be beholden to him for anything—and—and you can stick up for him till you're black in the face for all I care. I know he's bad and I'll be his enemy always."