"No, of righteous indignation. Come, one set more before we drive back to Maugus. Only two days left, you know." IV. The morning of the second day of the tournament dawned clear, and what was quite as much to the purpose, unusually cool. A little breeze from the northwest crept over the hills,--just enough to fan the heated players without disturbing the flight of the balls; while to make the weather perfect for tennis, by ten o'clock a light veil of clouds had comfortably covered the sun, cutting off all troublesome rays. "It is a perfect day," Betty remarked to Dora, as they took their places among the spectators. "I've put my things ready so I can dress in two minutes. Here comes George." The affair was an event in quiet Maugus. It had been talked about as the most important event could not have been discussed anywhere but in the idle hours of summer leisure, and had come to be regarded as quite the event of the season. The tennis-court was laid out near the Elm House, and was surrounded by superb old trees that in all the slow years of their growth had never over-arched a prettier sight than that afternoon showed, with its groups of nice old ladies, and charming young damsels in all the picturesque bravery of their nineteenth-century costume. The contest of the first day of the tournament had disposed of all the four-handed games but the final match, and the afternoon of the second day was left free for the single games. Granton had entered for the latter, and was looked upon as the probable victor. He won easily his first rubber, and came over to where Betty sat to wait his turn again. "It is lucky for me, Mr. Snow," he said to George, who in the happiness of full reconciliation sat by Dora's side, "that you are not playing, or I shouldn't have the ghost of a chance." "I'm resting on the laurels I won last year," was the light response. "It's far easier than to risk one's reputation and defend it." "Are you so sure of winning, as it is, Mr. Granton?" asked Betty coolly. "Sure? Of course not; but I have hopes now, which I shouldn't indulge if Mr. Snow, with the glory of his victories at Newport last year, were counted in." "I wish you success," she said, with a certain trace of satire in her tone. "Isn't Mr. Howard playing remarkably well to-day? What a splendid volley? That gives him the game." "Sets: two, love," called the scorer, and Mr. Howard's victory was saluted with applause, which Mistress Betty took great satisfaction in leading. "You seem to be greatly pleased at Howard's good luck," Granton observed, remembering that when his success had been clapped, just before, Miss Mork had refrained from lending a hand. "Why shouldn't I be?" she returned. "I've bet him a pair of gloves he wins." "What will you bet me I lose?" demanded he, not especially pleased at any sort of understanding between the young lady before him and Howard. "Anything you like." "I should like nothing so much as--" "As what?"