“Mind you men bat your very best,” said the Optimist, as we departed, “then perhaps Grace Trentham’ll send for some of you. Never know your luck, you know, do you?”
“How gaudy!” growled the Secretary. “Great encouragement to get runs.”
I felt this to be a moment of my middling unilluminated life. But to show the Goddess that Nature had designed me to support her favours with due dignity, and, therefore, that her confidence in me was not in the least degree misplaced, I strove to walk modestly in my public decorations. As we went to the coach the pent-up enthusiasm of the Optimist broke forth.
“Tell you what, old chap,” he said, “she’s quite the jolliest girl I know. One of the sort you read about, you know. No end of a fine girl, I can tell you. Not a bit o’ side and small talk, and Society manner, and that sort o’ rot. Awfully good people too, the Trenthams. By Jove! old chap, if I could only bat like you! If I’d only got your confidence, and your nerve, and your wrist!”
“It’s awfully good of you, old man,” I said, with a touch of complacency, I fear, “to bring me along and give me a show, when you might have kept her all to yourself.”
“Not at all,” said he. “Sent me to fetch you, you know. Besides, you sat there looking so deuced chippy that it struck us that you ought to be made to buck up a bit.”
“H’m! Ah! yes!” I murmured.
The Optimist was one of the hopelessly good sorts of the world, but he never did know when to leave off. He should have remembered that a woman’s admiration is one thing, but that her pity is quite another. But, then again, how like the good old Optimist to neglect his own opportunities! He was not altogether blind to that side of the question, though, since he said feelingly,—
“She says that Elphinstone and Carteret are staying at the Rectory with her father.”
“Well,” said I, with the brutal directness of the average man, “Carteret happens to be married, and I saw in the World last week that Elphinstone’s just got engaged.”