“And anyone else?”
“Probably yourself.”
“Probably everyone on the ground except you.”
“I am glad you except me.”
“I could swear by the horns of the altar that you were not a bit surprised.”
“And you would not perjure yourself—I’m not sure if the horns of the altar are binding as a form of oath; but anyhow, you would have been right. I did not fancy for a moment that my judgment as a prophetess was in jeopardy when Mr. Glenister took two or three games from you.”
“Then you watched it all?”
“Every stroke after the first couple of sets.”
“That was very nice of you. I kicked out Farmer Verrall before breakfast this morning.”
“What, the manager of your farm?”