“It’s no secret,” said Grace.
“But I mean to be,” said I. “May get a trial for the county this year. And didn’t you say yourself that my crack to cover was all serene?”
These particular reminiscences of my batting promised to modify Grace’s point of view.
“I’d clean forgotten your crack to cover,” said she, with a fallen look. “Hope I’ve not said anything very rude, Dimmy. If I have, I’m awf’ly humble.”
“You’ve been pretty thick,” said I, following up what looked like an advantage. “And you said my forward stroke was not so dusty, didn’t you?”
“Very decent, indeed,” said the keen critic. “Honour bright, Dimmy, I wasn’t really very rude, was I?”
“Depends what you call rude,” said I. “You see, there’s no standard measure of rudeness in this country. You threw books and things at me, but that’s a detail.”
“So I did,” she said sadly. “But I’d clean forgot your crack to cover. Makes me feel rather sick, Dimmy, when I think what I may have said. You ought to have reminded me. One can’t think of everything; ’specially as you’re quite an ordinary looking sort o’ chap.”
“There you go again,” said I.
“That’s not what I meant exactly,” said this frank young person. “What I mean is, you’re not six four, and chest according. But, Dimmy, are you going to let me pass?”