"If you do," warned Miss Charteris, "it will be the very last remark you will ever make in Martha's kitchen, Boy."
"Oh, there are ways of telling," said the Boy, airily; and pinched an explosive bun.
After tea they took their rackets and strolled down the lawn, pausing a moment while she chose him a buttonhole. The tie was orange on this second day, and she gathered the opening bud of a William Allen Richardson rose. She smiled into its golden heart as she pinned it in his white flannel coat. Somehow it brought a flash of remembrance of the golden heart of Little Boy Blue, who could not bear that any one should be past praying for, or that even a scarecrow should seem lonely.
They crossed the lane and entered the paddock; tightened the net on the tennis-court; chose out half a dozen brand-new balls, and settled down to fast and furious singles.
Miss Charteris played as well as she had ever played in her life; but the Boy was off his service, and she beat him six to four. Next time, he pulled off 'games all,' but lost the set; then was beaten, three to six.
Miss Charteris was glowing with the exercise, and the consciousness of being in great form.
"Boy dear!" she called, as she played the winning stroke of the third set, "I'm afraid you're lazy to-day!"
The Boy walked up to the net, and looked at her through his racket.
"I'm not lazy," he said; "but I'm on the wrong side of Jordan. This sort of thing is waste of time. I want to go over, and start marching."
"Don't be absurd, Boy. I prefer this side Jordan, thank you; and you shall stay here until you beat me."