any of that rather dubious
aplomb with which he tried to carry off his celebrity when it really
came.

It was very nasty for him.

He had to come out of the house, following Viola and her mother all
the way to the far end of the lawn, where the Canon was ready for him
with a face which, try as he would--and he tried his hardest--he could
not unstiffen. It must be said of the Canon that he nothing common
did or mean upon that memorable scene; but he had--as Jevons said
afterwards--rather too much the air of walking up to the gun's mouth and
calling on us to observe how beautifully a Christian could die.

And there was Victoria standing beside the Canon and holding herself
well, and Colonel and Mrs. Braithwaite beside Victoria, trying to look as
if there was nothing unusual about Jevons or the situation. There was
Norah at the tennis-net quivering with excitement, and (by the time
Jevons had caught up with his convoy) there was Mrs. Thesiger alongside
the others, turned round to present him, and watching him as he came on.
Viola had turned and was looking at him too. And there were the
subalterns at the tennis-net with Norah, doing unnecessary things to the
net and trying _not_ to look at him.

I wondered: How on earth will he carry it off? How is he going to get
across that tennis-ground?

He was getting across it somehow, holding himself not quite so well as
Victoria or the subalterns, but still holding himself, coming on, a
little flushed and twinkling and self-conscious, but coming.

The situation was, for him, most horrible; but it was worse for Viola. I
wondered: Is she shivering all down her spine? Is she going to flinch?
Why _will_ she _look_ at the poor chap?

And then I saw. She was looking at him with a little tender smile, a
smile that helped him across, that said: "Come on. Come on. It's
difficult, I know, but you're doing it beautifully."

Well, so he was. He was doing it more beautifully than the Canon or any
of them. For that group on the lawn were like a rather eager rescue
party, holding out hands to a struggling swimmer in the social surf. They
expected him to struggle and he didn't. He landed himself in the middle
of them with an adroitness that put them in the wrong. What's more, he
held his own when he got there. He looked about as different from any of
the men on that tennis-ground as a man well could look. He looked odd;
and that saved him. They with their distinction had not achieved abso