"I didn't know that," she said slowly.
"Didn't you? People are rather catty about it."
"Catty?"
Sheer surprise silenced her for a while, then hurt curiosity drove her to questions; but little Bunbury didn't know much more about the matter, merely shrugging his shoulders and saying: "It's casual but it's all right."
Later the tennis players, sunburned and perspiring, came swinging up from the courts on their way to the showers. Bunbury began to settle his obligations; Naïda and the Pink 'uns went indoors; Jack Dysart, handsome, dishevelled, sat down beside Geraldine, fastening his sleeves.
"I lost twice twenty," he observed. "Bunny is in fifty, I believe. Duane and Rosalie lose."
"Is that all you care about the game?" she asked with a note of contempt in her voice.
"Oh, it's good for one's health," he said.
"So is confession, but there's no sport in it. Tell me, Mr. Dysart, don't you play any game for it's own sake?"
"Two, mademoiselle," he said politely.