“Oh, Adrien!” replied Frances. “Well, you know Adrien! She is—just Adrien.”
As he turned into the street there was a sound of rushing feet.
“Hello, Captain Jack! Oh, Captain Jack! Wait for me! You have room, haven't you?”
A whirlwind of flashing legs and windblown masses of gold-red hair, which realised itself into a young girl of about sixteen, bore down on the car. It was Adrien's younger sister, Patricia, and at once her pride and her terror.
“Why, Patsy, where on earth did you come from? Of course! Get in! Glad to have you, old chap.”
“Oh, Captain Jack, what a game! What a wonderful game! And Rupert has been playing all summer and awfully well! And you have hardly played a game! I was awfully pleased—”
“Were you? I'm not sure that I was,” replied Captain Jack.
“Well, you WERE savage, you know. You looked as if you were in a fight.”
“Did I? That was very rotten of me, wasn't it?”
“Oh, I don't know exactly. But it was a wonderful game. Of course, one doesn't play tennis like a fight, I suppose.”