Part 19 (2/2)

”Rot! You seem to be fearfully down on your luck this afternoon, old man. Come and have an orgy of claret-cup. It's about all we keep to-day.” Mr. Blane rose from the roller, brus.h.i.+ng some blades of gra.s.s from his immaculate flannels.

”Sorry--can't,” said Pip. ”Miss Carr said she might be able to play croquet with me about now,” he explained awkwardly.

d.i.c.k knew all about his infatuation.

”Pip,” said that youthful sage, inclining his head at a judicial angle, ”you drop that girl! She's the wrong sort.”

”Look here, d.i.c.k--” began Pip indignantly.

”Yes, I know,” continued the voice of the misogynist. ”She's perfect and all that; but no woman is worth the seriousness you are putting into this business. I believe it's spoiling your eyes, for one thing.

Madeline Carr is simply making use of you. You see how she is behaving just now--playing a sort of in-and-out game? Well, she is waiting to see if you get your Blue. If you do, she will trot about with you during the luncheon interval at Lord's, and so on. It'll make the other girls jealous. If you don't--well, she'll have no use for you. Oh, I know 'em!” The orator wagged his head and paused for breath.

To Pip most of this diatribe was rank blasphemy, but he felt uncomfortably conscious that there was some truth in his friend's remarks. Still, he stood up stoutly for his ideal.

”Don't talk rot, d.i.c.k!” he said. ”There may be a few women like that,--just one or two,--but this girl isn't one of them. Why, you have only got to look at her face to see that!”

The world-weary Blane surveyed his friend with something approaching consternation.

”A bad case!” he remarked, shaking his head. ”Her face? My boy, faces are the most deceptive things in the world.”

”Hers isn't,” maintained Pip. ”She is most sincere. You have only to look her in the eyes to see what is going on inside.”

He stopped suddenly. He realised that he was growing too communicative.

”Eyes? That's just it. A girl makes eyes at you, Pip, and you crumple up. I had no idea you were in such a drivelling state as this, or I should have jawed you sooner. Come and drink stimulants,--claret-cup, lemonade, iced-coffee, anything to drown the past,--but come. And never again, after this experience, trust a girl with big eyes and little ways.”

So saying, the counsel for the prosecution took the counsel for the defence by the arm, and the two, n.o.bly sinking their differences in a common cause, cast their cigarettes away and sallied forth to distribute tea and ices among hungry chaperons and plain girls.

Meanwhile Miss Elsie Innes and the Cambridge captain were conversing in a retired part of the garden. An introduction had been effected by Miss Blane, though at whose instigation need not concern us.

Cayley, whose conversational stock-in-trade was limited, was feeling unusually complacent. The conversation had never flagged once, for this girl, though obviously young and inexperienced, had proved herself to be intelligent and appreciative beyond her years.

”I suppose you are going to beat Oxford,” said Miss Innes, looking at her companion with innocent admiration.

”That is a large question,” replied Cayley heavily. ”These things aren't settled by the spin of a coin. But we are going to do our best,”

he added, with an indulgent smile.

”Have you picked your team yet?”

”All but one. I want another bowler.”

”I see. What sort of bowler?”

”A good bowler,” replied the captain, facetiously. It was hardly worth while wasting technicalities on a girl.

”Oh! Can't you find one?”

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