She heard it said that the match was for honour and glory.  A match of two days’ duration under a broiling sun, all for honour and glory!  Was it not enough to make her despise the games of men?  For something better she played.  Her game was for one hundred thousand pounds, the happiness of her brother, and the concealment of a horror.  To win a game like that was worth the trouble.  Whether she would have continued her efforts, had she known that the name of Evan Harrington was then blazing on a shop-front in Lymport, I cannot tell.  The possessor of the name was in love, and did not reflect.

Smiling adieu to the ladies, bowing to the gentlemen, and apprehending all the homage they would pour out to her condescending beauty when she had left them, the Countess’s graceful hand gave the signal for Beckley.

She stopped the coachman ere the wheels had rolled off the muffling turf, to enjoy one glimpse of Evan and Rose riding together, with the little maid on her pony in the rear.  How suitable they seemed! how happy!  She had brought them together after many difficulties—­might it not be?  It was surely a thing to be hoped for!

Rose, galloping freshly, was saying to Evan:  ’Why did you cut off your moustache?’

He, neck and neck with her, replied:  ‘You complained of it in Portugal.’

And she:  ’Portugal’s old times now to me—­and I always love old times.  I’m sorry!  And, oh, Evan! did you really do it for me?’

And really, just then, flying through the air, close to the darling of his heart, he had not the courage to spoil that delicious question, but dallying with the lie, he looked in her eyes lingeringly.

This picture the Countess contemplated.  Close to her carriage two young gentlemen-cricketers were strolling, while Fallow field gained breath to decide which men to send in first to the wickets.

One of these stood suddenly on tiptoe, and pointing to the pair on horseback, cried, with the vivacity of astonishment: 

’Look there! do you see that?  What the deuce is little Rosey doing with the tailor-fellow?’

The Countess, though her cheeks were blanched, gazed calmly in Demogorgon’s face, took a mental impression of the speaker, and again signalled for Beckley.

ETEXT EDITOR’S BOOKMARKS: 

Adept in the lie implied
Commencement of a speech proves that you have made the plunge
Forty seconds too fast, as if it were a capital offence
Friend he would not shake off, but could not well link with
Habit, what a sacred and admirable thing it is
He grunted that a lying clock was hateful to him
He had his character to maintain
I ’m a bachelor, and a person—­you’re married, and an object
I take off my hat, Nan, when I see a cobbler’s stall
Incapable of putting the screw upon weak excited nature
It’s a fool that hopes for peace anywhere