ecame once
more engrossed in the play. Her eyes were fixed upon Nigel. It was his
movements which she followed, his strokes which she usually applauded.
Immelan sat by her side and watched.

"They are well matched," he remarked presently.

"Mr. Chalmers has a wonderful service," she declared, "but Lord
Dorminster has more skill. Oh, bravo!"

The set at that moment was finished by a backhanded return from Nigel,
which skimmed over the net at a great pace, completely out of reach of
the opposing couple. The players strolled across to the seats under the
trees. Naida smiled at Nigel, and he came over to her side. Once again
he was conscious of that peculiar sense of pleasure and well-being
which he felt in her company.

"You play tennis very well, Lord Dorminster," she said.

"I found inspiration," he answered.

"In your partner?"

"Maggie is always charming to play with. I was thinking of the
onlookers."

"Mr. Immelan is very interested in tennis," she remarked, with a smile
which challenged him.

"And you?"

"Even more so."

"Tell me about games in Russia," he begged, seating himself on the grass
by her side.

"We have none," she replied. "I learnt my tennis at Cannes, where,
curiously enough, I saw you play three years ago."

"You were there then?" he asked with interest.

"For a few days only. We were motoring from Spain to Monte Carlo. Cannes
was very crowded, but you see I remembered."

Her voice seemed to have some lingering charm in it, some curiously
potent suggestion of personal interest which stirred his pulses. He
looked up and met her eyes. For a moment the world of tennis fields, of
pleasant chatter and of holiday-makings, passed away. He rose abruptly
to his feet. This time he avoided looking at her.

"You must come over and speak to Maggie," he begged. "Perhaps Mr.
Immelan will spare you for a few moments."

Immelan bowed, sphinxlike but coldly furious. The two strolled away
together.

When the next set was over, Naida, who had rejoined her companion, had
disappeared. On one of their vacated chairs was seated the quiet-looking
stranger in grey. Chalmers passed his arm through Nigel's and led him in
that direction.

"I want you two to know each other," he said. "Jesson, this is Lord
Dorminster--Mr. Gilbert Jesson--Lord Dorminster."

The two men shook hands, Nigel a little vaguely. He was at first unable
to place this newcomer.

"Mr. Jesson," Chalmers explained, dropping his voic