ion, which in the end would surpass all
others in the profession. The war could not really touch him--no more
than it could touch Sir Isaac; by good fortune, and by virtue of the
impartiality of his intelligence, he was above the war.... Yes, Sir
Isaac, disliked and unwillingly but deeply respected, had cleared his
ideas for him.

In Elm Park Gardens he met the white-clad son of a Tory M.P. who lived
in that dignified street.

"The very man! Come and make a fourth, will you, Cannon?" asked the
youth, dandiacal in flannels, persuasively and flatteringly.

George demanded with firmness:

"Who are the other two?"

"Miss Horton and Gladys What's-her-name."

Why shouldn't he play at tennis? It was necessary to keep fit.

"All right. But not for long, you know."

"That's all right. Hurry up and get into your things."

"Ten minutes."

And in little more than ten minutes he was swinging a racket on the
private sward that separates Elm Park Gardens East from Elm Park Gardens
West, and is common to the residents of both. He had not encountered
Lois at home, and had not thought it necessary to seek her out. He and
she were often invited to play tennis in Elm Park Gardens.

The grass was beautifully kept. At a little distance two gardeners were
at work, and a revolving sprinkler whirled sprays of glinting water in a
wide circle. The back windows of the two streets disclosed not the
slightest untidiness nor deshabille; rising irregularly in tier over
tier to the high roof-line, they were all open, and all neatly
curtained, and many of them had gorgeous sun-blinds. The sound of one
or two pianos emerged faintly on the warm, still afternoon. Miss Horton
and the slim Gladys were dressed in white, with short skirts, at once
elegant and athletic. Miss Horton, very tall and strong, with clear
eyes, and a complexion damaged by undue exposure to healthy fresh air,
was a fine player of many years' experience, now at the decline of her
powers. She played seriously, every stroke conscientious and calculated,
and she gave polite, good-humoured hints to the youth, her partner.
George and Gladys were together. Gladys, eighteen, was a delightful
girl, the raw material of a very sound player; she held herself well,
and knew by instinct what style was. A white belt defined her waist in
the most enchanting fashion. George appreciated her, as a specimen of
the newest generation of English girls. There were thousands of them in
London alo