"I have already made his acquaintance," was the suave answer; and then Harold, to his surprise, was greeted by Mrs. Burnside, looking very fair and sweet in a cool white linen gown. He had not expected to meet her; he naturally supposed her place to be by the bedside of her sick child. In truth, she was only present at her aunt's urgent entreaty.
"I'm afraid she must be rather heartless," thought the young doctor, feeling oddly disappointed. He had not hitherto attributed want of feeling to the owner of those pathetic blue eyes. Nevertheless, as sets were being made up, he asked her to be his partner, she being famed in Beachbourne as a tennis-player.
She complied; but the set was not a success. He could not have believed that Mrs. Burnside could play so badly; they were beaten by six games to two.
"I am so sorry," she said humbly, as they quitted the court. "I know it was all my fault; but I really couldn't play—I was thinking of Doris all the time."
Her lips quivered, so that he could no longer imagine her heartless. "Your little girl will be well in a few days—there is really no cause for anxiety," he answered gently, angry with himself for having misjudged her.
"That is what Aunt Caroline says, and she insisted on my coming," plaintively returned May; but just then Miss Waller appeared, resplendent in mauve satin, with a stout, black-haired, middle-aged, and shrewd-looking man, very carefully dressed, in tow.
"I came to look for you, dear," she began very sweetly to her niece, merely giving a cold bow to Harold. "I want to introduce Mr. Lang to you. He knows our friends the Wingates in town."
With that, the excellent spinster turned away; and May, finding no resource save to accept the basket-chair in the shade proffered by the stranger—as Harold had prudently effaced himself—prepared for a tête-à-tête with a man she had never seen before in her life.
"It was very kind of you to come so promptly, Dr. Inglis."