Tommy was among the players. His play was always either surprisingly brilliant or amazingly bad, and on this particular evening he was winning all the honours.
Stella was joining in the general applause after a particularly fine stroke when suddenly Monck's voice spoke at her side.
"Why don't you take a hand sometimes instead of always looking on?"
The question surprised her. She glanced at him in momentary embarrassment, met his straight look, and smiled.
"Perhaps I am lazy."
"That isn't the reason," he said. "Why do you lead a hermit's life? Do you follow your own inclination in so doing? Or are you merely proving yourself a slave to an unwritten law?"
His voice was curt; it held mastery. But yet she could not resent it, for behind it was a masked kindness which deprived it of offence.
She decided to treat the question lightly. "Perhaps a little of both," she said. "Besides, it seems scarcely worth while to try to get into the swim now when I am leaving so soon."
He made an abrupt movement which seemed to denote suppressed impatience. "You are too young to say that," he said.
She laughed a little. "I don't feel young. I think life moves faster in tropical countries. I have lived years since I have been here, and I am glad of a rest."