court was in fairly good condition and, almost every day, she came over for a game. Mr. Jerrold was too heavy to play, but sometimes Mr. Ramsey accompanied her, and when Vale was busy, the Vicar and she would play together.
This morning she and Vale were opponents. It was a calm, fair day of perfect peace. The gulls sailed idly above the lake, bright, angelic creatures sporting for pleasure in the lustrous ether. A large, white yacht lay becalmed with sails collapsed; they could see the figures of people aboard her moving about her deck. In the distance a steamer with scarlet funnels was heading towards Niagara.
It was delightful on such a morning to run and leap after the ball over the closely shaven lawn. The delicate foliage of the walnut trees cast a light shade on the court; sometimes a walnut in its smooth, green burr, smelling like bergamot, would fall noiselessly on the grass.
"Oh, I don't think I have ever enjoyed a game so much!" cried Grace Jerrold, as they rested after a hard-fought contest.
"And yet you were beaten," said Derek.
"Still, I almost won, and, after all, it's the good fight that counts."
He looked into her fair, flushed face, curiously. "Are you that way about the big things—in life I mean?"
"Yes, I think I am. Father is like that, too. He has often played a losing game, but his spirits are always good."
"I believe if things went very wrong with me I should turn sulky and give up trying."
Miss Jerrold laughed, and then looked seriously into his candid, greenish-blue eyes. "I don't see you being unhappy," she said. "Your eyes seem to me to be looking straight into a golden future."
"They're looking straight at you."
