“‘A fine player—that fellow,’ I said, following him with my eyes. ‘Don’t know much about the game myself, but the experts tell me——’ And at that moment I saw her face, and stopped abruptly. She had gone very white, and her knuckles were gleaming like the ivory on the handle of her parasol. “‘Major Chilham,’ she said—and her voice was the tensest thing I’ve ever heard—‘who is that man who has just come out?’ “‘Trevor is his name,’ I answered, quietly. ‘He’s one of the troop-sergeants in my squadron.’ I was looking at her curiously, as the colour slowly came back to her face. ‘Why? Did you think you knew him?’ “‘He reminded me of someone I knew years ago,’ she said, sitting back in her chair. ‘But of course I must have been mistaken.’ “And then rather abruptly she changed the conversation, though every now and then she glanced towards the next tent, as if trying to see Trevor. And sitting beside her I realised that there was something pretty serious in the wind. She was on edge, though she was trying not to show it—and Trevor was the cause, or the man who called himself Trevor. All my curiosity came back, though I made no allusion to him; I was content to await further developments. “They weren’t long in coming. The house team, with the respectable total of three hundred and fifty odd, were all out by tea-time, and both elevens forgathered in the tent behind. All, that is, except Trevor, who remained in the other until Apson himself went and pulled him out. I watched the old man, with his cheery smile, take Trevor by the elbow and literally drag him out of his chair; I watched Trevor in his blue undress jacket, smart as be damned, coming towards us with our host. And then very deliberately I looked at Giles Yeverley’s wife. She was staring over my head at the two men; then she lowered her parasol. “‘So you weren’t mistaken after all, Mrs. Giles,’ I said, quietly. “‘No, Dog-face, I wasn’t,’ she answered. ‘Would you get hold of Giles for me, and tell him I’d like to get back. Say I’m not feeling very well.’ “I got up at once and went in search of her husband. I found him talking to the Zingari captain and Sergeant Trevor. He seemed quite excited, appealing as he spoke to the I Z. skipper, while Trevor stood by listening with a faint smile. “‘What he says is quite right, Sergeant Trevor,’ remarked the Zingari man as I came up. ‘If you cared to consider it—you are absolutely up to the best county form. Of course, I don’t know about your residential qualifications, but that can generally be fixed.’ “‘Dog-face,’ cried Yeverley, as soon as he saw me, ‘he’s in your squadron, isn’t he? Well, it’s so long since I left the Army that I’ve forgotten all about discipline—but I tell you here—right now in front of him—that Sergeant Trevor ought to chuck soldiering and take up professional cricket. Bimbo here agrees with me.’