"Hello, Miss Brown!" said a voice at her knee. She took her eyes from the field. Peter Coleman, one of a noisy party, was taking the seat directly in front of her.
"Well!" she said, gaily, "be you a-follering of me, or be I a-follering of you?"
"I don't know!--How do you do, Miss Thornton!" Peter said, with his delighted laugh. He drew to Susan the attention of a stout lady in purple velvet, beside him. "Mrs. Fox--Miss Brown," said he, "and Miss Thornton--Mrs. Fox."
"Mrs. Fox," said Susan, pleasantly brief.
"Miss Brown," said Mrs. Fox, with a wintry smile.
"Pleased to meet any friend of Mr. Coleman's, I'm sure," Thorny said, engagingly.
"Miss Thornton," Mrs. Fox responded, with as little tone as is possible to the human voice.
After that the newcomers, twelve or fourteen in all, settled into their seats, and a moment later everyone's attention was riveted on the field. The men were lining up, big backs bent double, big arms hanging loose, like the arms of gorillas. Breathless attention held the big audience silent and tense.
"Don't you LOVE it?" breathed Susan, to Thorny.
"Crazy about it!" Peter Coleman answered her, without turning.