'Don't ask her,' said a boy, 'she's a stuck-up—never plays with any one.' The voice reached Challis, and coloured her cheeks.
'You will be on our side, won't you?' a little girl said. 'We don't know what to do for another.'
'I—I don't know how to play. I'm very sorry—if I could I would,' Challis said.
'Oh, but you can't help knowing,' urged the small girl. 'All you've to do is hit the ball and run. Mamma's deck-chair there is one rounder, and the barometer thing's another, and that life-buoy's the third, and here's home. Of course you mustn't hit the ball overboard.'
'Oh, please,' said Challis, 'won't you get some one else? I should spoil the game. Oh, I couldn't play—please,' and she broke away from the hand, and heard 'stuck-up' again from the boy as she moved away.
Used to the fire of a thousand eyes, the girl shrank nervously from disporting herself before half a dozen idle watchers. She liked the quiet corners on the deck where no one could see her; she had a habit of lying on some cushions by her mother's side, and pretending to be asleep, just to escape being talked to.
A group of ladies drew her amongst themselves before she could pass.
'The sweet little thing!' said one.
'Have you been dreaming a Wave Nocturne up in your corner?' said another.
'Don't tease the child,' said a third. 'Darling, we're getting up a concert for to-morrow evening, and we're going to give the money to the Patriotic Fund when we get to Sydney. You will play some of your lovely pieces for us, won't you? You know we couldn't have a concert without the aid of the famous Miss Cameron.'