“How d’ye do, Maubray?”
“Quite well, thank you,” said William, with a smile that had a flicker of unconscious amusement in it. Perhaps without knowing it, he was envying him at that moment. “He’s a worse fool, by Jove! than I thought he was,” was his mental criticism; but he felt more conscious of his clumsy shoes, and careless get-up. “That’s the sort of thing they admire—why should a fellow be vexed—they can’t help it—it’s pure instinct.”
“What delicious ground for croquet; positively I never saw anything so beautiful in my life. Do you play, Miss Darkwell?”
“Sometimes, at the Rectory—not here. The Miss Mainwarings play, and once or twice I’ve joined their party.”
“But they have no ground there,” insisted Mr. Trevor; “it’s all on a slope. I happen to know it very well, because, in fact, it belongs to me. Old Mainwaring pays me a pretty smart rent for it, at least he thinks so. Ha! ha! ha!” and Vane Trevor cackled gaily over his joke, such as it was.
“Do you play?” demanded Violet of William.
“Croquet?—no, not much—just a little—once or twice—I’ll do to fill a place if you want a very bad player.”
“Oh, never mind, we’ll pull you through, or push you—ha, ha, ha!—we will, indeed. You’ll learn it a—in no time, it’s so simple—isn’t it, Miss Darkwell? And then if you can get up one of those Miss Mainwarings—awfully slow girls, I’m told, but they will do to play with you, Maubray, just by way of ballast, he’s such a fast fellow—ha, ha, ha! You’ll want a—a slow partner, eh?”
“Yes, and you’ll want a clever one, so I surrender Miss Darkwell, just to balance the game,” answered William, who was a little combative that morning.
“Egad, I should like uncommonly to be balanced that way, I can tell you; much better, I assure you, Miss Darkwell, than the sort of balancing I’ve been at the last two days, with my steward’s books—ha, ha, ha! Awful slow work, figures. A regular dose of arithmetic. Upon my honour you’d pity me if you knew; you really would.”