She would not lose her nerve.
She stepped back carefully, three paces from the line.
"Service," she called, in a voice that would not have roused a rabbit.
That, as it happened, was unimportant, for her first ball hit the net, and her second, slow and careful to avoid mistakes, sailed gently into the wrong court.
"Love fifteen," said Godfrey. "Bad luck, partner."
"So sorry," repeated Muriel mechanically.
She would serve the next one well.
"Play!" she shouted, and with all her strength she smote.
"Oh! Oh, Mr. Neale, I am so sorry!" For Muriel's ball, driven at last fair across the court, had hit the unfortunate partner right between his shoulders.
"My fault," he said gallantly. "I got in the way. I stopped a s—splendid service too."