" he said; "but it doesn't matter
now."

"I rather fancy it does matter now." The tennis players came in sight,
waving a salutation with their rackets.

Henry's mother apologized for a late appearance; no longer young, no
longer indeed middle-aged, she found it necessary to save up strength, to
use it economically. Gertie listened, content to be free from the
presence of Lady Douglass, and genuinely interested in the other's
conversation. Mark, the eldest son, she explained, arrived within a year
after her marriage; then came two baby girls who went back to Heaven;
then, after a long interval--

"It was because I had given away the rocking-horse," she declared.

--Then Henry. Mark was a good lad, but Henry had always been a dear lad.
Poor Mark made the one great mistake of his life when he selected a wife,
and Mrs. Douglass hoped the girl would understand why she felt anxious
that Henry should not commit a similar error.

"I don't care whom he marries," declared the old lady resolutely,
"providing he loves her, that she loves him, and that she is a good girl."

"That sort ought not to be hard to find."

"They are less plentiful," said the other, "than some people imagine.
Now I want you to tell me something, my dear."

The girl was preparing to use caution when Jim Langham strolled up; his
expectations of increased cheerfulness appeared to be realized, and his
manner was almost rollicking. He suggested that Gertie should walk
around with him; and the girl, to evade the threatened cross-examination,
nodded an acceptance.

"You don't go in for many games, I suppose?"

"Wish I did," replied Gertie. "I shouldn't feel quite so much out of it."

"Henry will expect you to play him at billiards this evening. If you
care to come across now," he offered, "I shall be delighted to give you
some idea how to start."

As they turned to go along the path that led to the back of the house,
Gertie glanced over her shoulder. Henry, watching their departure,
missed an easy serve, and endured the reproaches of his partner.

"Rutley, I want the key of the billiard-room. Rutley, get it at once."

"I think I know where it was put last," said the butler.

They went up the steps, and waited until Rutley came. Jim Langham called
him a slow-coach, a tortoise, a stick-in-the-mud, and a few other names.
Rutley, unmoved, inquired whether his services were wanted as marker.
Mr. Langham retorted that the butler might take it