"I will point him out to you directly. They are all mixed up again now."
"There are two of them, are there not?" the woman asked.
"Yes, that's the other; there—that one who has just picked up the ball and is running with it; there, that's the other, the one who is just charging the fellow who is trying to stop his brother."
"Well done!" he shouted, as Edgar's opponent rolled over.
The woman asked no more questions until the match was over, but stood looking on intently as the players came off the ground. Rupert and Edgar were together, laughing and talking in high spirits; for each had kicked a goal, and the town boys had been beaten by four goals to one. The boy to whom she had been speaking had long before strolled away to another part of the field, but she turned to another as the Clintons approached.
"Those are the Clintons, are they not?" she asked.
"Yes, and a good sort they are," the boy said heartily.
She stood looking at them intently until they had passed her, then walked away with her eyes bent on the ground, and made her way to a small lodging she had taken in the town. For several days she placed herself so that she could see the boys on their way to and fro between River-Smith's and the college, and watched them at football.
"I wonder who that woman is," Rupert said one day to his brother. "I constantly see her about, and she always seems to be staring at me."
"I thought she stared at me too," Edgar said. "I am sure I do not know her. I don't think I have ever seen her face before."