"You used to be much more sporting." "I wasn't a widow in those days," Stella said.
"What rot! What damn' rot!" cried Tommy wrathfully.
"There is no altering the fact," said Stella.
He left her, fuming.
That evening as she sat on the Club verandah with Mrs.Ralston, watching some tennis, Monck came up behind her and stood against the wall smoking a cigarette.
He did not speak for some time and after a word of greeting Stella turned back to the play.

But presently Mrs.Ralston got up and went away, and after an interval Monck came silently forward and took the vacant seat.
Tommy was among the players.

His play was always either surprisingly brilliant or amazingly bad, and on this particular evening he was winning all the honours.
Stella was joining in the general applause after a particularly fine stroke when suddenly Monck's voice spoke at her side.
"Why don't you take a hand sometimes instead of always looking on ?" The question surprised her.

She glanced at him in momentary embarrassment, met his straight look, and smiled.
"Perhaps I am lazy." "That isn't the reason," he said.

"Why do you lead a hermit's life?
Do you follow your own inclination in so doing?
Or are you merely proving yourself a slave to an unwritten law ?" His voice was curt; it held mastery.