to do as
well when his turn comes. My aim, my dear Phyllis, is to show you in a
series of impressionist pictures the sort of thing I have to go
through when I'm not here. Then perhaps you won't rend me so savagely
over a matter of five minutes' lateness for breakfast."

"Five minutes! It was three quarters of an hour, and everything was
simply frozen."

"Quite right, too, in weather like this. You're a slave to convention,
Phyllis. You think breakfast ought to be hot, so you always have it
hot. On occasion I prefer mine cold. Mine is the truer wisdom. I have
scoffed the better part, as the good Kipling has it. You can give the
cook my compliments, Phyllis, and tell her--gently, for I don't wish
the glad news to overwhelm her--that I enjoyed that cake. Say that I
shall be glad to hear from her again. Care for a game of tennis,
Garnet?"

"What a pity Norah isn't here," said Phyllis. "We could have had a
four."

"But she is at present wasting her sweetness on the desert air of
Yeovil. You had better sit out and watch us, Phyllis. Tennis in this
sort of weather is no job for the delicately nurtured feminine. I will
explain the finer points of my play as we go on. Look out particularly
for the Doherty Back-handed Slosh. A winning stroke every time."

We proceeded to the tennis court. I played with the sun in my eyes. I
might, if I chose, emphasize that fact, and attribute my subsequent
rout to it, adding, by way of solidifying the excuse, that I was
playing in a strange court with a borrowed racket, 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 fiendishly good 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 four strokes. He served. I know now how
soldiers feel under fire. The balls whistled