Part 17 (1/2)

”Oh, we must--if it's fine. It's the last match of the week; besides, Herbert's going to play.”

This was an argument, and Erskine said no more. The chances are that he would have said no more in any case. The following afternoon Ruth drove with Tiny to the match, and with a particularly light heart, because she had not heard another word against the plan. Her one remaining anxiety was lest it might rain before they got to the cricket field.

For the day was one of those dull ones of early autumn when there is little wind, a gray sky, and more than a chance of rain; but none had fallen during the morning, which reduced the chance; while the clouds were high, and occasionally parted by faint rays of suns.h.i.+ne. The ground was so beautiful in itself that it was the greater pity there was no more sun, since, without it, well-kept turf and tall trees are like a sweet face saddened. The trees were the fine elms of that country, and they flanked two sides of the ground; but one missed their shadows, and the foliage had a dingy, lack-l.u.s.ter look in the tame light. On the third side a ha-ha formed a natural ”boundary,” and the red, spreading house stood aloof on the fourth, giving a touch of welcome warmth to a picture whose highest lights were the white flannels of the players and the canvas tents. The tents were many, and admirably arranged; but one beneath the elms had a side on the ground to itself; and thither drove Mrs. Holland, alighting rather nervously as a groom came promptly to the pony's head, because this was the ladies' tent.

To-day, however, the tent was not formidably full, as it had been when the girls had watched the cricket from it earlier in the week; this was only the Sat.u.r.day's match. Ruth looked in vain for Lady Dromard, but received a cold greeting from her daughter, Lady Mary, upon whom the guinea stamp was disagreeably fresh and sharp. The sight of Mrs.

Willoughby and her friend Mrs. Foster-Simpson on a front seat was a relief at the moment (the sight of anything to nod to is a relief sometimes); but Ruth was discreet enough to sit down behind these ladies, not beside them. She congratulated herself on her presence of mind when she heard the tone and character of some of their comments on the game. It would have done Ruth no good to be seen at the side of loud Mrs. Foster-Simpson or of loquacious Mrs. Willoughby, and it might have done Tiny grave harm. Mrs. Willoughby's husband, who had good-naturedly become eleventh man at the eleventh hour, was conspicuous in the field from his black trousers, clerical wide-awake, and s.h.i.+rt-sleeves of gray flannel. ”I hope you admire him,” said his wife over her shoulder to Ruth; ”I tell him he might as well take a funeral in flannels!”

”Or dine in his surplice,” added her friend Mrs. Foster-Simpson in a voice that carried to the back of the tent.

”I just do admire Mr. Willoughby,” Ruth said softly; ”he has a soul above appearances.”

”You're not his wife,” replied the lady who was.

”You may thank your stars!” shouted her too familiar friend.

Little Mrs. Holland turned to her sister and speculated aloud as to the state of the game, but her tone was an example to the ladies in front, who nevertheless did not lower theirs to supply the gratuitous information that the Mundham players had been fielding all day.

”They're getting the worst of it,” declared Mrs. Willoughby, perhaps prematurely.

”Do them good,” her friend said viciously, but with the soft pedal down for once. ”There would have been no holding them. That young Dromard, now--it will take it out of _him_. He wants it taking out of him!”

Mr. Stanley Dromard, who had been scoring heavily all the week, happened to be in the deep field close to the tent. Ruth nudged her sister, and they moved further along their row in order to avoid the bonnets in front.

”Horrid people!” whispered Ruth.

”That's the earl by the canvas screen,” answered Tiny. ”I should like to send him a new straw hat!”

”Hus.h.!.+” whispered Ruth in terror. ”You're as bad as they are. Tell me, do you see Herbert?”

”Yes, there he is, all by himself. There's a man out.”

”Is there? How tired they seem! That's Lord Manister sprawling on the gra.s.s. What a boy he looks! You wouldn't think he was anybody in particular, would you?”

”I should hope not, indeed, on the cricket field!”

”I only meant he looked rather nice.”

”Certainly he looks nicer in flannels than in anything else; his tailor has less to do with it.”

The patience of Ruth was inexhaustible. She watched the game until another wicket fell. Then it was her admiration for the scene that escaped in more whispers.

”_Isn't_ it a lovely place, Tiny?”

”Oh, it's all that.”

”I've never seen one to touch it, and I have seen two or three, you know, since we were married. But the house is the best part of it all. I would give anything to live in a house like that--wouldn't you?”

”I? My immortal soul!”