tossed back her
straight fair hair, and, warding off the sun, came strolling up to them.
The umpire, a small boy of twelve, was lying on his stomach, squealing
and tickling a collie. Shelton bent and pulled his hair.

"Hallo, Toddles! you young ruffian!"

One and all they stood round Shelton, and there was a frank and pitiless
inquiry in their eyes, in the angle of their noses something chaffing and
distrustful, as though about him were some subtle poignant scent exciting
curiosity and disapproval.

When the setts were over, and the girls resting in the double hammock
underneath the holm oak, Shelton went with Bernard to the paddock to hunt
for the lost balls.

"I say, old chap," said his old school-fellow, smiling dryly, "you're in
for a wigging from the Mater."

"A wigging?" murmured Shelton.

"I don't know much about it, but from something she let drop it seems
you've been saying some queer things in your letters to Antonia"; and
again he looked at Shelton with his dry smile.

"Queer things?" said the latter angrily. "What d' you mean?"

"Oh, don't ask me. The Mater thinks she's in a bad way--unsettled, or
what d' you call at. You've been telling her that things are not what
they seem. That's bad, you know"; and still smiling he shook his head.

Shelton dropped his eyes.

"Well, they are n't!" he said.

"Oh, that's all right! But don't bring your philosophy down here, old
chap."

"Philosophy!" said Shelton, puzzled.

"Leave us a sacred prejudice or two."

"Sacred! Nothing's sacred, except--" But Shelton did not finish his
remark. "I don't understand," he said.

"Ideals, that sort of thing! You've been diving down below the line of
'practical politics,' that's about the size of it, my boy"; and, stooping
suddenly, he picked up the last ball. "There is the Mater!" Shelton saw
Mrs. Dennant coming down the lawn with her second daughter, Sybil.

By the time they reached the holm oak the three girls had departed
towards the house, walking arm in arm, and Mrs. Dennant was standing
there alone, in a grey dress, talking to an undergardener. Her hands,
cased in tan gauntlets, held a basket which warded off the bearded
gardener from the severe but ample lines of her useful-looking skirt.
The collie, erect upon his haunches, looked at their two faces, pricking
his ears in his endeavour to appreciate how one of these two bipeds
differed from the other.

"Thank you; that 'll do, Bunyan. Ah, Dick! C