“Why, don't you see the joke?” enquired Menzies innocently. “Well, carry on! You will to-morrow.”
Edwards growled out an oath and took himself off.
Meantime the match was making furious progress, with the fury, it must be confessed, confined to one side only of the net. Captain Jack was playing a driving, ruthless game, snatching and employing without mercy every advantage that he could legitimately claim. He delivered his service with deadly precision, following up at the net with a smashing return, which left his opponent helpless. His aggressive tactics gave his opponent almost no opportunity to score, and he kept the pace going at the height of his speed. The onlookers were divided in their sentiments. Stillwell had a strong following of his own who expressed their feelings by their silence at Jack's brilliant strokes and their loud approval of Stillwell's good work when he gave them opportunity, while many of Maitland's friends deprecated his tactics and more especially his spirit.
At whirlwind pace Captain Jack made the first three games a “love” score, leaving his opponent dazed, bewildered with his smashing play and blind with rage at his contemptuous bearing.
“I think I must go home, Frances,” said Adrien to her friend, her face pale, her head carried high.
Frances seized her by the arm and drew her to one side.
“Adrien, you must not go! You simply must not!” she said in a low tense voice. “It will be misunderstood, and—”
“I am going, Frances,” said her friend in a cold, clear voice. “I have had enough tennis for this afternoon. Where is Sidney? Ah, there he is across the court. No! Let me go, Frances!”
“You simply must not go like that in the middle of a game, Adrien. Wait at least till this game is over,” said her friend, clutching hard at her arm.
“Very well. Let us go to Sidney,” said Adrien.