"Poor dear Sir Charles," murmured Aunt Mary, getting up from her chair; "at least he tried."
"And that," said Billy, following her example, "is the best of all epitaphs."
With the dismissal of the unfortunate Baronet, the two teams adjourned for lunch.
Cricket lunches, I should imagine, are much alike everywhere, so I will spare you any lengthy description of the repast. I need only say that at Aunt Mary's request, as the leading representative of the family, I installed myself at the head of the table, an honour which was considerably enriched in attraction by the presence of Billy. Whenever I caught his eye in the intervals of carving cold lamb, I felt an almost irresistible desire to burst into a shout of laughter. I could not help picturing the faces of the worthy company if I had only been able to get up and explain the true facts concerning my presence at the banquet.
Such an interlude being unfortunately out of the question, we finished our lunch, smoked our pipes, and after chatting amiably over the course of the match and other exciting topics, sauntered back to the cricket field.
Not being anxious to appear too intimate with Billy, I left him to amuse himself with Lady Baradell and the others, while I promenaded round the ground with Sir George. Billy, who always gets on with women, seemed perfectly contented: indeed, it was not until just on half-past three that he got up and made his excuse to Aunt Mary.
"You will come and see us again, won't you, Mr. Logan?" urged that hospitable lady. "My nephew will be back to-morrow, and I want you to meet him."
"I want to myself," said Billy heartily. "I've heard so much about him."
He shook hands all round, lingering a moment over the operation when it came to Lady Baradell, and then strode off, waving a cheerful farewell to York, who was perspiring freely in the outfield.
"A delightful man," observed Aunt Mary. "I wonder what he can be doing down in this part of the world."