But not even the stammer impressed Delia Vaughan. That disagreeable young woman dropped idly on to the Pavilion steps quite close to Muriel and sat leaning forward, her racket against her knees.
"Godfrey, is there any tea?" she suggested. "And you need not think that the splendid game was due to your good play, my friend. Your first two services were abominable."
Fancy anyone daring to talk to Godfrey Neale like that!
Godfrey handed a tea-cup to Delia.
"Would you like some bread and butter, or shall I g—get you some of those little round buns?"
"Have they sugar on top?" asked Delia.
"Sugar? No, currants, not sugar. There is only one bun with sugar on it, and I want it for myself."
"Then you can't have it. How like a man to think that he has an indisputable right to the best bun. Bring me the sugar one, and—Godfrey, Miss Hammond hasn't had any tea yet. Have you, Miss Hammond?"
"Oh, s—sorry," said Godfrey Neale, and handed to Muriel his other cup.
Never before had Delia appeared to notice the existence of Muriel. Godfrey had never spoken to her since the Party. And here was Delia attending to her desire for tea, and Godfrey handing her his own cup! The traitor blushes glowed in Muriel's face, and chased themselves across her neck like the shadows of cloud across the tennis courts.