"Not only defeated, but forsaken!" Harry cried. "Andy, I'll have your blood!" Andy Hayes laughed joyously. This victory came as an unlooked-for adornment to a day already notable. A Saturday half-holiday, down from town in time to lunch at Nutley, tennis and tea, and the prospect (not free from piquant alarm) of dinner at Halton--this was a day for Andy Hayes! With an honest vanity--a vanity based on true affection--he thought how the account of it would tickle Jack Rock. His life seemed broadening out before him, and he would like to tell dear old Jack all about it. Playing lawn-tennis at Nutley, dining at Halton--here were things just as delightful, just as enlightening, as supping at the great restaurant in the company of the Nun and pretty sardonic Miss Dutton. He owed them all to Harry--he almost wished he had lost the set. At any rate he felt that he ought to wish it. "It was an awful fluke!" he protested apologetically. "You'd beat him three times out of five," Wellgood asserted in that confident tone of his. Harry looked a little vexed. He bore an occasional defeat with admirable good-nature: to be judged consistently inferior was harder schooling to his temper. Triumphing in whatever the contest might be had grown into something of a custom with him. It brooked occasional breaches: abrogation was another matter. But "Oh no!" cried both the girls together. Harry was on his feet again in a moment. Women's praise was always sweet to him, and not the less sweet for being open to a suspicion of partiality--which is, after all, a testimony to achievement in other fields.