"Why ?" "Oh, nothing," replied Hollanden sadly.

"Only they are wearing me out at the game.

I had to get up and play before breakfast this morning with the Worcester girls, and there is a lot more mad players who will be down on me before long.

It's a terrible thing to be a tennis player." "Why, you used to put yourself out so little for people," remarked Hawker.
"Yes, but up there"-- Hollanden jerked his thumb in the direction of the inn--"they think I'm so amiable." "Well, I'll come up and help you out." "Do," Hollanden laughed; "you and Miss Fanhall can team it against the littlest Worcester girl and me." He regarded the landscape and meditated.

Hawker struggled for a grip on the thought of the stubble.
"That colour of hair and eyes always knocks me kerplunk," observed Hollanden softly.
Hawker looked up irascibly.