my subsequent
rout to it, adding, by way of solidifying the excuse, that I was
playing in a strange court with a borrowed racquet, and that my mind
was preoccupied--firstly, with _l'affaire_ Hawk, secondly, and chiefly,
with the gloomy thought that Phyllis and my opponent seemed to be on
friendly terms with each other. Their manner at tea had been almost
that of an engaged couple. There was a thorough understanding between
them. I will not, however, take refuge behind excuses. I admit, without
qualifying the statement, that Mr. Chase was too good for me. I had
always been under the impression that lieutenants in the Royal Navy
were not brilliant at tennis. I had met them at various houses, but
they had never shone conspicuously. They had played an earnest,
unobtrusive game, and generally seemed glad when it was over. Mr. Chase
was not of this sort. His service was bottled lightning. His returns
behaved like jumping crackers. He won the first game in precisely six
strokes. He served. Only once did I take the service with the full face
of the racquet, and then I seemed to be stopping a bullet. I returned
it into the net. The last of the series struck the wooden edge of my
racquet, and soared over the back net into the shrubbery, after the
manner of a snick to long slip off a fast bowler.

"Game," said Mr. Chase, "we'll look for that afterwards."

I felt a worm and no man. Phyllis, I thought, would probably judge my
entire character from this exhibition. A man, she would reflect, who
could be so feeble and miserable a failure at tennis, could not be good
for much in any department of life. She would compare me instinctively
with my opponent, and contrast his dash and brilliance with my own
inefficiency. Somehow the massacre was beginning to have a bad effect
on my character. All my self-respect was ebbing. A little more of this,
and I should become crushed,--a mere human jelly. It was my turn to
serve. Service is my strong point at tennis. I am inaccurate, but
vigorous, and occasionally send in a quite unplayable shot. One or two
of these, even at the expense of a fault or so, and I might be
permitted to retain at least a portion of my self-respect.

I opened with a couple of faults. The sight of Phyllis, sitting calm
and cool in her chair under the cedar, unnerved me. I served another
fault. And yet another.

"Here, I say, Garnet," observed Mr. Chase plaintively, "do put me out
of this hideous suspense. I'm becoming