“Of course, I remember him. He is one of our boys.”
“Let's see, he is one of your defence, isn't he?” said Stillwell, who had felt himself rather out of the conversation. Maitland nodded. The presence of Stillwell in that room introduced a painful element. Once he had been one of the seven and though never so intimately associated with the Rectory life as the others, yet at all team gatherings he had had his place. But since the war Maitland had never been able to endure his presence in that room. To-day, with the memory of those old thrilling days pressing hard upon his heart, he could not bear to look upon a man, once one of them, now forever an outsider. The tea coming in brought to Maitland relief.
“Ah, here you are,” he cried anticipating Stillwell in relieving Adrien of part of her load. “You are a life saver. Tea is the thing for this hour.”
“Three lumps, is it not?” said the girl, smiling at him. “You see, I remember, though you really don't deserve it. And here is Pat with the sandwiches.”
“Yes! a whole plate for yourself, Captain Jack,” said Patricia. “Come and sit by me here.”
“No indeed!” said her sister with a bright glow on her cheeks. “Jack is going to sit right here by the tea-pot, and me,” she added, throwing him a swift glance.
“No! you are both wrong, children,” said their mother. “Jack is coming to sit beside me. He's my boy this afternoon.”
“Mother, we will all share him,” said Patricia, placing chairs near her mother. “I must talk about the match, I simply must.”
A shadow for a moment wiped the brightness from the face and eyes of the elder sister, but yielding to her mother's appeal, she joined the circle, saying to Maitland,
“I don't believe you want to talk about the match, do you? That is not supposed to be good psychology before a match. What you really want is a good sleep. Isn't that right?”