An eager game of tennis was going on, and Beatrice, who did not play, stood by to watch.  Northbury was accustomed to Beatrice, and did not therefore observe, what was very patent to Captain Bertram, that this girl was as perfectly well-bred as his own sisters.  She wore a long, gray cashmere dress, slightly open at her throat, with ruffles of soft, real lace.

As she watched the game, her sensitive and speaking face showed interest, sympathy, keen appreciation.  She heard Captain Bertram’s step, and turned to welcome him with a smile.

“Would not you like to play?”

“Will you be my partner?”

“When they make up a fresh set I will, with pleasure; although,” she added, looking down at her long dress, “I did not expect to play to-night, and did not dress for it.”

“Thank goodness.  I hate tennis dresses.  All girls should wear trains.”

Beatrice raised her bright eyes to his face.  Their open expression said plainly, “It is a matter of indifference to me what you think about my dress.”  Aloud she said: 

“What have you done with my friends, the Bells?”

“I am afraid, Miss Meadowsweet, that long intercourse with those young ladies would be too severe a strain on my intellect.”

“Captain Bertram, you don’t mean what you are saying.”

“I do, on my honor.  They are too intellectual for me.”

“They are not!  You are laughing at them.”

Beatrice stepped back a pace, and looked at him with a heightened color coming into her face.

Captain Bertram began to explain.  Before he could get in a word she said, abruptly: 

“Pardon me,” and flew from his side.

Her movement was so fleet and sudden that he had not realized her departure before the impulsive girl was standing by the despised Matty, talking to her in a cheery and affectionate voice, and making fresh arrangements for the pleasure and satisfaction of all three.

“By Jove, she’s a fine creature!” thought the captain.  “I don’t mind how much I see of her—­but as to the rest of this motley herd, my mother is quite right in not letting the girls have anything to do with them.  I suppose I put my foot in it bringing them here to-night.  Well, that can’t be helped now.  I hope Miss Beatrice will soon come back.  Her eyes flashed when I said even a word against those terrible little friends of hers.  I should like her eyes to flash at me again.  I suppose she’ll soon return.  She promised to be my partner in the next set at tennis.  That girl doesn’t care a bit for fine speeches.  She won’t take a compliment even when it is offered to her—­won’t stretch out her hand for it or touch it.  Cool?  I should think she is cool.  Might have been through two or three London seasons.  What a queer lot surround her!  And how unlike them she is.  There’s the old mother—­I had better go and talk to her.  She’s quite as vulgar as the rest, but somehow she doesn’t jar on a man’s nerves like those charming Miss Bells.  Positively, I should have a fever if I talked much longer to them.  My first love, too!  I’m to tell them about her.  Oh, yes, that’s so likely.”