"Good afternoon, Mr. Neale. Home from Oxford, I suppose? Have you had some good tennis?"
"I thought s—so, Mrs. Hammond, but my partner tells me that I have been playing abominably," smiled Godfrey.
"Muriel, I hope that you haven't been scolding Mr. Neale," Muriel's mother began.
Mrs. Cartwright's eye flashed balefully upon her. Between them, Muriel was in despair. To say nothing was to act a lie, to let her mother go on thinking that she had been honoured by Godfrey's partnership. He would think that she was showing off. It was an unendurable position.
Muriel blushed; Godfrey Neale hesitated smilingly; Mrs. Cartwright awaited in triumph the revelation of Mrs. Hammond's error. Delia's clear voice cut the tension of the listeners:
"As a matter of fact, it was I who scolded Godfrey. He and Miss Hammond are just about to take their revenge on me."
"Well, I hope that they are not too hard on you," smiled Mrs. Hammond, and passed on to her triumph, while Muriel sat speechless at the unexpected turn of events.
"Look here, Delia, is that a challenge?" asked Godfrey, too polite to show surprise.
"Of course. Directly I have finished my tea. Go and find Dennis Smallwood and tell him that he can play with me. He's asked me about six times to-day, because he wants to practise for the tournament. Of course this is if Miss Hammond has no objection," she added, inclining her head towards the miserable Muriel who sat crumbling her bread and butter, and wishing that she might plunge into her tea-cup and remain engulfed there for ever.
The proximity of the gods is exhilarating, but when they descend from their machines they are apt to be a little overwhelming.