ball begrimed with much honourable usage, had set up three crooked
sticks to serve as wickets, and played with an enthusiasm that the
conditions of the game might justly have rendered difficult of
achievement. The one thing certain about the ball was that it would not
come off the baked, uneven ground at the angle at which it might be
expected. It might shoot, or on pitching might tower like a partridge,
and any ball pitched off the wicket might easily take it; the only thing
quite certain was that a straight ball (unless a full pitch) would not.
Above, the thick dusky blue of a fine summer day in London formed a
cloudless dome, where the sun still swung high on its westering course.
In front of the distances that dusky pall was visible, and the houses at
the edge of the Park were blurred in outline and made beautiful by the
inimitable dinginess of the city.

But Gladys had no eye for all this; she was burning to know what was the
latest development in the Willie affair, but her whole-hearted affection
for her cousin was a little touched by timidity, and she did not quite
like to question her. For Daisy, in spite of her charm, was a little
formidable at times; at times she would have moods of entrancing
tenderness; she could comfort or appeal, just as she could take the most
sympathetic pleasure in the fact that a fierce tiger was annoyed at her
amiable intentions, and had spoilt her best parasol. But at other times
there was something of the tiger in her--that, no doubt, was why she
understood this one so well--which made Gladys a little shy of her. She
had often, so to speak, bitten off the end of her cousin's parasol
before now, and Gladys did not appreciate that as much as Daisy had just
done. So in silence she looked a little sideways at that brilliant,
vivid face, flushed with the swift blood of its twenty-two years, that
looked so eagerly from its dark grey eyes on to the activity of the
playing children. But silences were generally short when Daisy was
present, and she proceeded to unfold herself with rapidity and all the
naturalness of which she deplored the lack in the gentle, good people.

"Oh! how they are enjoying themselves," she said, "with really no
material at all. Gladys, think what a lot of material a person like me
wants to make her enjoy herself! It really is shocking. My gracious,
what an ugly child that is! Don't look at it; you never should look at
ugly things--it's bad for the soul. Yes, I want