There came a day when they were standing one each side of the net and Mr.Spillikins was explaining to Norah the proper way to hold a racquet so as to be able to give those magnificent backhand sweeps of his, by which he generally drove the ball halfway to the lake; and explaining this involved putting his hand right over Norah's on the handle of the racquet, so that for just half a second her hand was clasped tight in his; and if that half-second had been lengthened out into a whole second it is quite possible that what was already subconscious in his mind would have broken its way triumphantly to the surface, and Norah's hand would have stayed in his--how willingly--! for the rest of their two lives.
But just at that moment Mr.Spillikins looked up, and he said in quite an altered tone.
"By Jove! who's that awfully good-looking woman getting out of the motor ?" And their hands unclasped.

Norah looked over towards the house and said: "Why, it's Mrs.Everleigh.I thought she wasn't coming for another week." "I say," said Mr.Spillikins, straining his short sight to the uttermost, "what perfectly wonderful golden hair, eh ?" "Why, it's--" Norah began, and then she stopped.

It didn't seem right to explain that Mrs.Everleigh's hair was dyed.

"And who's that tall chap standing beside her ?" said Mr.Spillikins.
"I think it's Captain Cormorant, but I don't think he's going to stay.
He's only brought her up in the motor from town." "By Jove, how good of him!" said Spillikins; and this sentiment in regard to Captain Cormorant, though he didn't know it, was to become a keynote of his existence.
"I didn't know she was coming so soon," said Norah, and there was weariness already in her heart.

Certainly she didn't know it; still less did she know, or anyone else, that the reason of Mrs.Everleigh's coming was because Mr.Spillikins was there.