"A bad case!" he remarked, shaking his head. "Her face? My boy, faces are the most deceptive things in the world." "Hers isn't," maintained Pip. "She is most sincere. You have only to look her in the eyes to see what is going on inside." He stopped suddenly. He realised that he was growing too communicative. "Eyes? That's just it. A girl makes eyes at you, Pip, and you crumple up. I had no idea you were in such a drivelling state as this, or I should have jawed you sooner. Come and drink stimulants,--claret-cup, lemonade, iced-coffee, anything to drown the past,--but come. And never again, after this experience, trust a girl with big eyes and little ways." So saying, the counsel for the prosecution took the counsel for the defence by the arm, and the two, nobly sinking their differences in a common cause, cast their cigarettes away and sallied forth to distribute tea and ices among hungry chaperons and plain girls. Meanwhile Miss Elsie Innes and the Cambridge captain were conversing in a retired part of the garden. An introduction had been effected by Miss Blane, though at whose instigation need not concern us. Cayley, whose conversational stock-in-trade was limited, was feeling unusually complacent. The conversation had never flagged once, for this girl, though obviously young and inexperienced, had proved herself to be intelligent and appreciative beyond her years. "I suppose you are going to beat Oxford," said Miss Innes, looking at her companion with innocent admiration. "That is a large question," replied Cayley heavily. "These things aren't settled by the spin of a coin. But we are going to do our best," he added, with an indulgent smile. "Have you picked your team yet?" "All but one. I want another bowler." "I see. What sort of bowler?" "A good bowler," replied the captain, facetiously. It was hardly worth while wasting technicalities on a girl. "Oh! Can't you find one?" "I have got three in my eye, but I can only choose one." "I saw the Cambridge Eleven play against the M.C.C.," said Miss Innes, apparently changing the subject. "Which day?" "The second. _You_ made sixty-nine, not out." Mr. Cayley, much gratified, coughed confusedly. "Oh, that was a fluke," he said. "The difficulty that day was to get wickets." "There was one Cambridge bowler," continued the girl, "who looked as though he ought to take wickets but didn't." "Who was that?" inquired the captain, much amused. "A man with black hair and blue eyes." Mr. Cayley scratched his nose reflectively. His recollections of the eyes of his team were vague. Their individual shades he had never observed, though he had frequently condemned them collectively. "Well, really--" he said. "Do you remember anything else about him?"