They would go on: Victor declared it was
good for him, Uncle Van delighted in a hard game (it appeared to be a
very hard game to him from the number of strokes he missed), and Millie
grew in vigor, ubiquity, and (it must be added) intensity of color as
the hours wore away. It was close on five before Charlie, with a groan,
could throw down his racquet.

"Poor boy!" said Mrs. Marland.

"Charlie, dear," called Lady Merceron, who had been talking comfortably
to Mrs. Bushell in the shade, "come and hand the tea. I'm sure you must
all want some. Millie, my dear, how hot you look!"

"She never will take any care of her complexion, complained Mrs.
Bushell.

"Take care of your stom--your health--and your complexion will take
care of itself," observed Mr. Vansittart.

"Charlie! Where; is the boy?" called Lady Merceron again.

The boy was gone. He was flying as fast as his legs would take him to
the Pool. Where was that cherished interview now? He could hope only
for a few wretched minutes--hardly enough to say good-by once--before
he must hustle--yes, positively hustle--Agatha out of sight. He had
heard that abominable Sutton remark that they might as well start
directly after tea.

He was breathless when he burst through the willows. But there he came
to a sudden, a dead stop, and then drew back into shelter again. There
on the bank, scarcely a dozen feet from it, sat two people--a. young
man with his arm round a young woman's waist. Willie Prime and Nettie
Wallace, "by all that's damnable!" as Sir Peter says! Charlie said
something quite as forcible.

He felt for his watch, but he had left it with his waistcoat on the
lawn. What was the time? Was it going quickly or slowly? Could he
afford to wait, or must he run round to the road and intercept Agatha?
Five minutes passed in vacillation.

"I'll go and stop her," he said, and began a cautious retreat. As he
moved he heard Willie's voice.

"Well, my dear, let's be off," said Willie.

Nettie rose with a sigh of content, adjusted her hat coquettishly, and
smoothed her skirts.

"I'm ready, Willie. It's been beautiful, hasn't it?"

They came towards Charlie. Evidently they intended to regain the road
by the same path as he had chosen. Indeed, from that side of the Pool
there was no choice, unless one clambered round by the muddy bank.

"We must make haste," said Willie. "Father'll want his tea."

If they made haste they would be close on his heels. Charlie shrank