The Hoyden. Duchess

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СКАЧАТЬ me that you preferred me to all the rest of my sex?"

      "I never said that!" says Tita, with emphasis; "never! never! Why should I say that?"

      She looks at Gower as if demanding an answer.

      "I'm not good at conundrums," says he. "Ask me another."

      "No; I won't," says she_. "Why?"_

      Upon this Mr. Gower rolls himself over in the rug, and covers his head. It is plain that answers are not to be got out of him.

      "Did I say that?" says Tita, appealing to Sir Maurice.

      "I hope not," returns he, laughing. "Certainly I did not hear it."

      "And certainly he didn't either," says Tita with decision.

      "After that," says Gower, unrolling himself, "I shall retire from public life; I shall give myself up to"—he pauses and looks round; a favourite ladies' paper is lying on the ground near him—"to literature."

      He turns over on his side, and apparently becomes engrosses in it.

      "Have you been playing, Maurice?" asks Mrs. Bethune presently.

      Her tone is cold. That little speech of his to Tita, uttered some time ago, "I hope not," had angered her.

      "No," returns he as coldly.

      He is on one of his uncertain moods with regard to her. Distrust, disbelief, a sense of hopelessness—all are troubling him.

      "What a shame, Sir Maurice!" says Mrs. Chichester, leaning forward. As I have hinted, she would have flirted with a broomstick. "And you, who are our champion player."

      "I'll play now if you will play with me," says Sir Maurice gallantly.

      "A safe answer," looking at him with a pout, and through half-closed lids. She finds that sort of glance effective sometimes. "You know I don't play."

      "Not that game," says Mr. Gower, who never can resist a thrust.

      "I thought you were reading your paper," says Mrs. Chichester sharply. "Come, what's in it? I don't believe," scornfully, "you are reading it at all."

      "I am, however," says Mr. Gower. "These ladies' papers are so full of information. I'm quite enthralled just now. I've got on to the Exchange and Mart business, and it's too exciting for words. Just listen to this: 'Two dozen old tooth-brushes (in good preservation) would be exchanged for a gold bangle (unscratched). Would not be sent on approval (mind, it must not be set scratched! good old toothbrushes!) without deposit of ten shillings. Address, 'Chizzler, office of this paper.'"

      "It isn't true. I don't believe a word of it," says Tita, making a snatch at the paper.

      "My dear girl, why not? Two dozen old toothbrushes. Old toothbrushes, you notice. Everything old now goes for a large sum, except," thoughtfully, "aunts."

      He casts a lingering glance round, but providentially Miss Gower has disappeared.

      "But toothbrushes! Show me that paper."

      "Do you, then, disbelieve in my word?"

      "Nobody could want a toothbrush."

      "Some people want them awfully," says Mr. Gower. "Haven't you noticed?"

      But here Sir Maurice sees it his duty to interfere.

      "Miss Bolton, will you play this next set with me?" says he, coming up to Tita.

      "Oh, I should love it!" cries she. "You are so good a player. Do get us some decent people to play against, though; I hate a weak game."

      "Well, come, we'll try and manage it," says he, amused at her enthusiasm.

      They move away together.

CHAPTER VI.

       Table of Contents

      HOW GAMES WERE PLAYED, "OF SORTS"; AND HOW TITA WAS MUCH HARRIED, BUT HOW SHE BORE HERSELF VALIANTLY, AND HOW, NOT KNOWING OF HER VICTORIES, SHE WON ALL THROUGH.

      There had been no question about it; it had been a walk-over. Even Lord Eshurst and Miss Staines, who are considered quite crack people at tennis in this part of the county, had not had a chance. Tita had been everywhere; she seemed to fly. Every ball caught, and every ball so well planted. Rylton had scarcely been in it, though a good player. That little thing was here and there and everywhere, yet Rylton could not say she poached. Whatever she did, however, she won.

      She does not throw up her cap this time—perhaps she had seen a little of that laughter before—but she claps her hands joyfully, and pats Rylton's arm afterwards in a bon camarade fashion that seems to amuse him. And is she tired? There is no sense of fatigue, certainly, in the way she runs up the slope again, and flings herself gracefully upon the rug beside Mr. Gower. Mr. Gower has not stirred from that rug since. He seldom stirs. Perhaps he would not be quite so stout if he did.

      "You won your game?" says Margaret Knollys, bending towards Tita, with a smile.

      Old Lady Eshurst is smiling at her, too.

      "Oh yes; how could I help it? Sir Maurice"—with a glance at the latter as he climbs the slope in turn—"plays like an angel."

      "Oh no; it is you who do that," says he, laughing.

      "Are you an angel, Miss Bolton?" asks Mrs. Bethune, who is standing next Rylton.

      He had gone straight to her, but she had not forgiven his playing with the girl at all, and a sense of hatred towards Tita is warming her breast.

      "I don't know," says Tita, with a slight grimace. It is not the answer expected. Marian had expected to see her shy, confused; Tita, on the contrary, is looking at her with calm, inquiring eyes. "Do you?" asks she.

      "I have not gone into it," says Mrs. Bethune, with as distinct a sneer as she can allow herself.

      Mr. Gower laughs.

      "You're good at games," says he to Tita.

      He might have meant her powers at tennis, he might have meant anything.

      "That last game you are thinking of?"

      "Decidedly, the last game," says Gower, who laughs again immoderately.

      "I don't see what there is to laugh at," says Miss Bolton, with some indignation. "'They laugh who win,' is an old proverb. But you didn't win; you weren't in it."

      "I expect I never shall be," says Gower. "Yet lookers-on have their advantage ascribed to them by a pitiful Providence. They see most of the game."

      "It is I who should laugh," says Tita, who has not been following him. "I won—we"—looking, with an honest СКАЧАТЬ