Miss Wilson looked doubtfully at him, but, being in haste, went indoors without further comment.

The girls mistrusting his eccentricity, kept aloof.

Agatha determined to have another and better look at him.
Racket in hand, she walked slowly across the grass and came close to him just as he, unaware of her approach, uttered a groan of exhaustion and sat down to rest.
"Tired already, Mr.Smilash ?" she said mockingly.
He looked up deliberately, took off one of his washleather gloves, fanned himself with it, displaying a white and fine hand, and at last replied, in the tone and with the accent of a gentleman: "Very." Agatha recoiled.

He fanned himself without the least concern.
"You--you are not a laborer," she said at last.
"Obviously not." "I thought not." He nodded.
"Suppose I tell on you," she said, growing bolder as she recollected that she was not alone with him.
"If you do I shall get out of it just as I got out of the half-crowns, and Miss Wilson will begin to think that you are mad." "Then I really did not give you the seven and sixpence," she said, relieved.
"What is your own opinion ?" he answered, taking three pennies from his pocket, jingling them in his palm.

"What is your name ?" "I shall not tell you," said Agatha with dignity.
He shrugged his shoulders.