The games languished, flickered out under the calm eyes of Mr. Duplessis, but he took no part in reviving them. Nor did Miss Middleham do more than pretend to instruct. He stood, hands in pockets, for a while, looking at nothing, whistling softly to himself, then strolled towards Mary Middleham and, without looking at her, said two or three words. She listened to them intently without turning her head, said, “Yes,” and went on with her business of the moment. Still whistling, Duplessis strolled away, and, in passing, tweaked Cecily Bingham’s straight hair. Mr. Germain, after salutations of a courtly kind, had returned leisurely to the Rectory Garden—to help his sister-in-law feel the early peaches on the wall. III MR. DUPLESSIS PREVARICATES That evening there was a vacant place at the Rectory dinner-table. Tristram Duplessis was to have filled it, but did not appear until dessert. He entered then with smiles and light-hearted apologies. “It isn’t often that I work, you’ll say, but when I do, I believe I’m not to be restrained. Thanks, Molesworth, anything will do for me.” This was how he put it, first to his hostess, next to the anxious butler, each of whom knew better. He chose to add, for the general benefit, “As a matter of fact, I got interested, and entirely forgot that a man must eat.” “Or behave himself,” said the Rector, with lifted brows. Duplessis paused, soup-spoon in air. “He should, no doubt. That’s why I’m so late. I had to dress, you see. Anon Soames must needs come in and talk his cricket. They play Cromberton to-morrow, and are two short. Will I be one, and bring another man? says Soames.” The spoon was emptied and put down. “I half promised to bring you, you know, Germain.” This was suavely addressed to Mr. John Germain, who unblinkingly received it. “Where is your match?” Mr. Germain was peeling a peach, and did not look up. He was told, a home match, and then, without faltering before the “You play?” of as rude a young man as these islands can contain, replied deliberately, “I am very ready to oblige Mr. Soames.” The hush upon the dinner-table which followed this declaration was its most eloquent commentary. Mrs. James Germain surveyed the walls, as if calling them to witness her secret thoughts. The Rector drained his glass of sherry, and took another. “My dear fellow, you make me feel an old fogey,” he said. “Do you know that I’ve not had a bat in my hand since I left Cambridge? And you’ll forgive me for remarking that you haven’t either, to the best of my belief.” Mr. Germain, whose serenity was proof, reflected before he replied that that seemed an excellent reason for having one to-morrow. “Assuredly,” he said, “I shall rally to Mr. Soames, with whom I had a little chat this afternoon. He seemed an amiable and intelligent young man.” “I like Soames,” the Rector agreed. “He’s a worker.”