“I don’t see why men should think so much of cricket. It makes them so——”
“So unbearable when they come off,” I replied. “But he must have been very nervous, Nellie, whether or no. You couldn’t help that. Your encouragement would probably have disturbed him just as much as your—as not. That is the double influence of woman on the man of action—neither her smiles nor her frowns help him in the least. Her approval is pleasant when it’s all over, but I’m afraid the presence of the Queen of Love and Beauty has unhorsed many a gallant youth before to-day. He makes the mistake in——”
“In having anything to do with them?” she queried with pretty cynicism.
I leaned back.
“No. In being a man of action,” I returned.
There was a sudden turn and hush among the Eton boys. Ted reappeared, and they were awed in the presence of a great grief. He sat down next to me with the hard look of one who asks no sympathy, folded his hands, and stared at his shoes. The Eton boys whispered.
“And they play me for my batting,” he said, so softly that I scarcely heard. “I’m a bat—a bat. I’m here to make runs.”
The Weltschmerz had sunk into his soul. I was about to say something, but checked myself as Nellie bent forward.
“Ted,” she said, “I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.”
I folded my arms, looking before me. Ted did not move an inch.