“Thank you, Miss Harting,” he returned. “I’m afraid I didn’t come as often as I should last year. Let me introduce my friend, Mr. Locke, one of our players.” Their eyes met again, but how changed were the circumstances! Still, it was not she alone who remembered, and the flush on his face was no feeble reflection of that upon her own. She murmured something, her lids drooping quickly; in her ears his voice――strong, fine of timbre, well modulated――sounded pleasantly. She was disturbed by the remarkable behavior of her heart. Afterward she could not recall what she had said, but she remembered his words accurately. They were few and formal, but they were uttered in that unmistakable way which marks the speech of a man of breeding. She took particular note of his hands; while they were a bit slender, with long fingers, there was something about them indicative of physical strength, and strength of character, as well. She wondered that a baseball player could have such fine, well-groomed hands; and she had come to believe that the hand of any man tattles the secrets of him to whom it belongs. After a few moments, the ball players passed out of the church between two lines of children waiting to enter for Sabbath school when the congregation should have departed. Even as she smilingly greeted some of those children, Janet’s eyes followed the retreating figure of Tom Locke. She was a bit startled to hear some one speak to her, and to discover Bent King, hat in hand, at her side. His face was unusually pale, and there was in his eyes something resembling anger. His voice sounded unnatural and harsh. “I must say those two――er――fellows had their nerve with them!” he observed, in a low tone. “It took a crust for them to stop and speak to you here. I――I felt like punching their heads!” “I am very glad you did not permit your feelings to master you,” she said, with a faint laugh. “I met Larry Stark last year, and I was glad to see him at church to-day. He introduced Mr. Locke, the new pitcher.” “Oh, I saw it all,” Bent half growled. “I was standing out here in the vestibule, where I could look inside, and I saw them time their movements to meet you.” “Oh, pshaw! You must be mistaken.” “I’m not――begging your pardon, Janet. I say it was a sheer case of nerve for two hired ball players to do a thing like that. I saw people staring as you were talking to them. I don’t wonder you were embarrassed.” “Embarrassed! You must be mistaken, Benton.” “Of course you were embarrassed――you blushed like fire. It was humiliating to be compelled to acknowledge an introduction to a common scrapper like that man Locke.” “I assure you that I did not feel at all humiliated,” she returned, with a touch of defiance. “Instead, I was glad of the opportunity to meet him.” King choked; the pallor of anger gave way to a flush of the same nature, and he gazed at her resentfully.