r days, had risen to wealth and
Castel Casteggio, while others, like Norah's father, had stayed just
where they were.

So the Newberrys left Peter and Norah to themselves all day. Even after
dinner, in the evening, Mr. Newberry was very apt to call to his wife
in the dusk from some distant corner of the lawn:

"Margaret, come over here and tell me if you don't think we might cut
down this elm, tear the stump out by the roots, and throw it into the
ravine."

And the answer was, "One minute, Edward; just wait till I get a wrap."

Before they came back, the dusk had grown to darkness, and they had
redynamited half the estate.

During all of which time Mr. Spillikins sat with Norah on the piazza.
He talked and she listened. He told her, for instance, all about his
terrific experiences in the oil business, and about his exciting career
at college; or presently they went indoors and Norah played the piano
and Mr. Spillikins sat and smoked and listened. In such a house as the
Newberry's, where dynamite and the greater explosives were everyday
matters, a little thing like the use of tobacco in the drawing-room
didn't count. As for the music, "Go right ahead," said Mr. Spillikins;
"I'm not musical, but I don't mind music a bit."

In the daytime they played tennis. There was a court at one end of the
lawn beneath the trees, all chequered with sunlight and mingled shadow;
very beautiful, Norah thought, though Mr. Spillikins explained that the
spotted light put him off his game. In fact, it was owing entirely to
this bad light that Mr. Spillikins's fast drives, wonderful though they
were, somehow never got inside the service court.

Norah, of course, thought Mr. Spillikins a wonderful player. She was
glad--in fact, it suited them both--when he beat her six to nothing.
She didn't know and didn't care that there was no one else in the world
that Mr. Spillikins could beat like that. Once he even said to her.

"By Gad! you don't play half a bad game, you know. I think you know,
with practice you'd come on quite a lot."

After that the games were understood to be more or less in the form of
lessons, which put Mr. Spillikins on a pedestal of superiority, and
allowed any bad strokes on his part to be viewed as a form of
indulgence.

Also, as the tennis was viewed in this light, it was Norah's part to
pick up the balls at the net and throw them back to Mr. Spillikins. He
let her do this, not from rudeness, for it wasn't in him,