Chapter XII: A Tennis Party

UNDER the "ancestral trees" of the Park a good many ladies were assembled, a few black coats and lighter masculine costumes being sprinkled among them. The feminine element commonly predominates in a country spot, such as Craye.

They were better off than usual at the Park, since both the sons of the house were present—Mervyn, handsome, and full of talk; Edred, not less handsome, perhaps, but grave and silent.

Two sets of tennis-players were already in full swing when Margot and Dolly arrived. Mrs. Claughton swept forward to meet them, her large frame imposing in puce satin and black lace. Mr. Claughton was not so tall as his wife, but he equalled her in breadth; and by a certain patronising assurance of manner, he more than made up for lack of height.

"Fine afternoon! Seasonable weather, very!" he declared, casting looks of admiration upon Margot's graceful figure and Dolly's "golden locks." "Most glad to see you both. Quite a gratification."

"But imprudent of Margot," chimed in Mrs. Claughton. "I heard this morning how unwell you were. How do you do, Dolly. Margot is looking very pale. I wonder Isabel allowed her to venture."

"Isabel isn't a household tyrant," said Dolly.

"Margot ought to be old enough to judge for herself, you mean. But some people never are old enough. Some people never learn prudence. I am afraid Margot is one of them. Emmeline—imagine Margot coming to-day."

The grave-mannered Emmeline had appeared behind her mother. Emmeline always did her duty loyally on these occasions; but she did it as a duty, with no sign of enjoyment. Nothing was neglected, nobody was forgotten, yet all were conscious that Emmeline Claughton would have preferred their absence to their presence. She could not relax, could not open out, could not be simple and bright and conversational.

"I will find an easy-chair for Margot somewhere," she said, in the constrained manner which seemed natural to her.

"Don't mind about me. I am all right," Margot said, smiling.

"And pray what is to be done with our golden-haired maiden?" demanded Mr. Claughton, in his most patronising tone.

Mrs. Claughton's eyes ran over Dolly, not for the first time. "Still down!" she murmured.

"My father likes her best so for the present," observed Margot.

"But, my dear Margot,—now Dolly has come out—it is so unlike other girls, you know! Of course, your father's wishes—ahem—but he is only a man—he knows nothing about the correct things for young girls. I really think, in such a case as this—if Dolly is not to become a marked person in the neighbourhood—"

Dolly was desperately angry with herself for being unable to restrain a brilliant blush as the two young men drew near. Poor Isabel's well-meant but clumsy questioning had broken down a barrier which hitherto had fenced round Dolly's allowed consciousness of the state of things. Dolly's eyes were suddenly opened wide. If Issy—dear dull Issy!—had begun to notice, surely other people must have begun too; and if that were so, she must have shown too plainly something of what she felt. So it was quite time to put people off the scent. That anybody should think she cared particularly for Edred, when Edred had shown no signs of caring particularly for her, was too dreadful! Dolly had come to the Park this afternoon, with a resolute determination to meet Edred and behave towards him exactly as she would meet and behave towards the merest acquaintance. Everybody, seeing her manner, should be convinced of her indifference.

And here was she, after all these brave resolutions, crimsoning and trembling the moment he approached.

It would not do! It should not be! Dolly told herself so, fiercely, in her heart. The blush must somehow be covered.

"I don't care whether I am marked or not!" she declared, with a toss of her dainty head, and a well-acted show of vexation, quite enough to account for rising colour. "So much the better if I am, unlike other girls! I shall wear my hair down so long as my father wishes it."

"Dolly!" murmured Margot, rather startled by this new development of the home-pet.

"My dear Dolly!" said Mrs. Claughton reprovingly.

Nearer came the young men, and Dolly's heart beat almost to suffocation.

"Of course I shall," she added, shaking the golden mass, and looking brilliantly pretty, with her rosy cheeks and shining eyes. Mervyn had never been so struck with the attractiveness of "the little Dolly."

"I declare—she's coming out!" he said to his brother in an undertone. Edred made no answer: and the next moment, Mervyn was saying lightly, "How do you do, Dolly?"

"How do you do?" she answered, smiling up in his face, then turning away in apparent oblivion of Edred's presence.

"Dolly, you don't see Edred."

Dolly had no idea who said the words. She only felt sure it was accompanied by a smile, and she scorned herself afresh for the renewed rush of colour.

"O, how do you do?" she said carelessly, holding out her hand, and turning again to Mervyn. "It's too bad that a girl can't be left in peace to wear her hair anyhow!" she muttered, with well-assumed pettishness, Mrs. Claughton having passed on to welcome other arrivals, while Emmeline was leading Margot to a shady seat.

Mervyn was quite taken in. "Come!—never mind," he said, astonished at the unwonted signs of temper. "People will make remarks, but what does it matter?"

"I don't see why one is to be interfered with," pouted Dolly.

She had not seen the momentary brightness and the succeeding gravity of Edred's face, for she had not dared to look at him. She only knew that he made no further effort to gain her attention, but fell back at once, leaving Mervyn to escort her towards the tennis-lawn. Dolly became suddenly conscious of fierce disappointment, and of a desperate inclination to shed tears; but she kept her eyes bent smilingly upwards, having dropped the look of annoyance the moment the need for it was over.

"You'll like to be in the next set, I dare say," said Mervyn.

"I don't mind. Any time."

"But I know you are a devotee of tennis. Perhaps Edred will join too. Good for him, you know. He has worked too hard lately—doesn't look well."

"Doesn't he?" carelessly.

"No. Don't you think him rather pale,—'interestingly pale,' as somebody says?"

"I didn't notice."

"Too much taken up with the hair question. Why, Dolly, I didn't know you could be so easily upset."

Mervyn spoke in an elder-brotherly style of assumed reproof, and to his utter amazement Dolly's blue eyes were straightway full to overflowing.

"Why—Dolly!" he uttered.

"Some people are enough to make anybody cross," faltered Dolly, in choked accents.

"Well, but if I were you—Bravo! That's well hit. Game," exclaimed Mervyn, echoing the word which reached them. "Now we shall have to form a new set. I'll ask Edred to join,—shall I? Wait here a moment."

"Why can't you join?" asked Dolly, in her usual tone.

Mervyn paid no attention to the request, but he speedily came back alone. "Lazy fellow,—I can't persuade him," he said lightly.

Dolly made no sign, but her interest in tennis was gone. She played languidly, absently, missing every ball, till her partner, Mervyn, asked, "Why, Dolly, what is the matter?" Then she coloured furiously, and roused herself to do her best, winning acclamations more than once from lookers-on. If only Edred had been among those lookers-on!—but she knew he was not.

"Better ending than beginning," Mervyn remarked, when he and Dolly came out victorious.

"Yes. I suppose I wasn't trying."

"You'll join the next set."

"O no. It is too hot," said Dolly, in a listless tone. "I'm going among the trees."

She strolled away; and two minutes later she would have given anything not to have refused, for Edred was among the players. If only she had seen him coming in time! Too late now! Mervyn strode after her, to say, with a smile, "Think better of it, Dolly!" But how could she retract, just because Edred was there? What would everybody say?

"I can't. It is too hot!" she repeated.

Then she found a cane chair under a may-tree, from which she could watch the game at a distance. Edred certainly did not play well. He was not in practice, and he missed often the easiest balls. But Dolly cared nothing about his bad play, as compared with Mervyn's good play; or for his unrelaxed gravity, as compared with Mervyn's pleasant ease. The one thing she did care for was that Edred never once looked towards the may-tree, under which a little figure in white sat forlornly alone,—never once! Dolly was sure of that; and yet how could she really know?

This set did not last very long; and Edred was standing not far off, talking to somebody. Would he come to Dolly, or would he not? She was longing for a reassuring word or glance from him, with a craving which for the time almost smothered her dread of what people might say. Now he had drawn nearer still, and Dolly knew he saw her. If he had not seen her before, he saw her now. The uncertainty set her heart beating again, faster than before. Would he—oh, would he—?

Emmeline walked up, and said something to Edred. Then she went away, and he seemed to hesitate. He looked towards Dolly—yes, straight towards her. The next moment, he turned and walked in the opposite direction, out of sight.

Dolly felt stupefied. She grew cold, and shivered all over.

"What! Here still?" exclaimed Mervyn, coming under the shady tree. "Hidden from view!"

"Yes, I—It's a nice corner."

"Not bad for solitary meditation; but I didn't know that was in your line. Have you been hidden away long enough? Will you have some tea,—or an ice?"

Dolly laughed vaguely, and stood up. "I should like some tea," she said. The colour had all faded out of her cheeks, leaving her white and limp.

"Dolly, you are half-frozen. The wind is a little chilly, perhaps, but I shouldn't have thought—"

"Yes, it's dreadfully chilly. I'm just like an icicle."

"A cup of tea will put you right. Come along."

A decorated table under some elm-trees had attracted most of the company—tea, cakes, and ices being in full swing. Mervyn found a chair for Dolly close to Margot. "She's chilly, and wants a cup of tea," he said.

"Dolly, you are the colour of the table-cloth," said Margot.

"I had a game, and got too hot; and then I suppose I sat still too long."

"Where have you been? I could not get a glimpse of you anywhere."

"Only under a tree. It was a cosy spot, and I could watch the tennis."

Dolly saw Edred's head, far away in the throng, moving to and fro. He seemed to be attending to people's wants busily. She had no inclination now to blush, feeling too cold and miserable; besides, he showed no disposition to come near. Mervyn, not Edred, brought tea and cake.

"That will do you good," he said, pulling a chair up for himself. "Everybody seems supplied, so I don't see why I shouldn't indulge in a moment's repose. Feeding the British public is hard work!" This in a confidential undertone.

"Edred is making himself desperately useful," remarked Margot.

"Edred never does anything less than desperately. Can't be moderate if he tries."