You and I will have a game together--single wicket.

We must play for something--what shall it be ?' 'Oh--for nothing,' the curate vacuously remarked.
'That's for love, you rogue!' exclaimed the Squire.

'Come, come, none o' that, sir--ha! ha!' 'Oh, very well; we'll play for love,' said Rose.
'And I'll hold the stakes, my dear--eh ?' 'You dear old naughty Squire!--what do you mean ?' Rose laughed.

But she had all the men surrounding her, and Mrs.Shorne talked of departing.
Why did not Evan bravely march away?
Why, he asked himself, had he come on this cricket-field to be made thus miserable?
What right had such as he to look on Rose?
Consider, however, the young man's excuses.

He could not possibly imagine that a damsel who rode one day to a match, would return on the following day to see it finished: or absolutely know that unseen damsel to be Rose Jocelyn.