"Whatever else I am," said Mrs. Holt, vigorously, "I am not a flatterer. I am telling you something for your own good—which you probably know already."
Honora was discreetly silent. She thought of the proud and unsusceptible George Hanbury, whom she had cast down from the tower of his sophomore dignity with such apparent ease; and of certain gentlemen at home, young and middle-aged, who had behaved foolishly during the Christmas holidays.
At lunch both the Roberts and the Joshuas were away.
Afterwards, they romped with the children—she and Susan. They were shy at first, especially the third Joshua, but Honora captivated him by playing two sets of tennis in the broiling sun, at the end of which exercise he regarded her with a new-born admiration in his eyes. He was thirteen.
"I didn't think you were that kind at all," he said.
"What kind did you think I was?" asked Honora, passing her arm around his shoulder as they walked towards the house.
The boy grew scarlet.
"Oh, I didn't think you—you could play tennis," he stammered.
Honora stopped, and seized his chin and tilted his face upward.
"Now, Joshua," she said, "look at me and say that over again."