ough all the
gestures of an annihilating service that for some reason never happened.
She said the net was too low and that spoiled her eye. And when she
missed her return it was because Anthony had looked at her and put her
off. Still Aunt Louie's attitude had this advantage that it kept her
quiet in one place where Anthony could dance round and round her.

But Auntie Edie played in little nervous runs and slides and rushes; she
flung herself, with screams of excitement, against the ball, her partner
and the net; and she brandished her racket in a dangerous manner. The
oftener she missed the funnier it was to Auntie Edie. She had been
pretty when she was young, and seventeen years ago her cries and tumbles
and collisions had been judged amusing; and Auntie Edie thought they
were amusing still. Anthony had never had the heart to undeceive her. So
that when Anthony was there Auntie Edie still went about setting a
standard of gaiety for other people to live up to; and still she was
astonished that they never did, that other people had no sense
of humour.

Therefore Frances was glad when Anthony told her that he had asked Mr.
Parsons, the children's tutor, and young Norris and young Vereker from
the office to come round for tennis at six, and that dinner must be put
off till half-past eight.

All was well. The evening would be sacred to Anthony and the young men.
The illusion of worry passed, and Frances's real world of happiness
stood firm.

And as Frances's mind, being a thoroughly healthy mind, refused to
entertain any dreary possibility for long together, so it was simply
unable to foresee downright calamity, even when it had been pointed out
to her. For instance, that Nicky should really have chosen the day of
the party for an earache, the worst earache he had ever had.

He appeared at tea-time, carried in Mary-Nanna's arms, and with his head
tied up in one of Mr. Jervis's cricket scarves. As he approached his
family he tried hard not to look pathetic.

And at the sight of her little son her whole brilliant world of
happiness was shattered around Frances.

"Nicky darling," she said, "why _didn't_ you tell me it was really
aching?"

"I didn't know," said Nicky.

He never did know the precise degree of pain that distinguished the
beginning of a genuine earache from that of a sham one, and he felt that
to palm off a sham earache on his mother for a real one, was somehow a
sneaky thing to do. And while his ear