I turned toward a window opening on the lawn. There was just time to stretch my legs while curling-tongs and powder were being plied above stairs. Alstrop joined me, and we stood staring up at a soft dishevelled sky in which the first stars came and went.
“Curse it—looks rotten for our match tomorrow!”
“Yes—but what a good smell the coming rain does give to things!”
He laughed. “You’re an optimist—like old Hayley.”
We strolled across the lawn toward the woodland.
“Why like old Hayley?”
“Oh, he’s a regular philosopher. I’ve never seen him put out, have you?”
“No. That must be what makes him look so sad,” I exclaimed.
“Sad? Hayley? Why, I was just saying—”
“Yes, I know. But the only people who are never put out are the people who don’t care; and not caring is about the saddest occupation there is. I’d like to see him in a rage just once.”