"He's so important because he thinks the dance was his idea; of course I'd meant to have it all along. There she is--her name's Dora Dalton. I think it's Dora." "I shall call her Dora, anyhow." I was introduced, and we had a very jolly waltz together. She danced delightfully; and when we had found a comfortable corner she began to talk. She said, "Do you play cricket?" I was rather surprised, but I kept quite cool, and said, "Yes." "My brother's very fond of it. He is very good too. He was playing here yesterday against Mr Mannering's team, and made six, and then the umpire gave him out; but he wasn't out really, and he was very angry. I don't wonder, do you?" I had a sudden horrible suspicion. "Did you say your name was Dora--I mean his name was Dalton?" "Yes. And just because he was angry, which anybody would be, the wicket-keeper was very rude, and told him to go home and--and bake his head." "Not bake," I said gently, my suspicion having now become almost a certainty. "Boil." "Go home, and boil his head," she repeated indignantly. "And did he?" "Did he what?" "Er--did he understand--I mean, don't you think your brother may have misunderstood? I can't believe that a wicket-keeper would ever demean himself by using the word 'boil.' Not as you might say boil. 'Cool his head' was probably the expression--it was a very hot day, I remember. And ... ah, there's the music beginning again. Shall we go back?" I am afraid Miss Dalton's version of the incident was not quite accurate. What had happened was this: I had stumped the fellow, when he was nearly a mile and a half outside his crease; and when he got back to it some minutes later, and found the umpire's hand up, he was extremely indignant and dramatic about it. Quite to myself, _sotto voce_ as it were, I murmured, "Oh, go home!" and I may have called attention in some way to the "bails." But as to passing any remarks about boiling heads--well, it simply never occurred to me. I had a dance with Myra shortly after this. She had been so busy and important that I felt quite a stranger. I adapted my conversation accordingly. "It's a very jolly floor, isn't it?" I said, as I brought her an ice. "Oh yes!" said Myra in the same spirit. "Have you been to many floors--I mean dances, lately?" "Oh yes!" "So have I. I think dances have been very late lately. I think when the floor's nice it doesn't matter about the ices. Don't you think the band is rather too elastic--I mean keeps very good time? I think so long as the time is good it doesn't matter about the floor." "Oh, _isn't_ it?" said Myra enthusiastically. There was a pleasant pause while we both thought of something else to say. "Have you," we began. "I beg your pardon," we said at once. "I was going to say," Myra went on, "have you read any nice books lately, or are you fonder of tennis?"