HOW GAMES WERE PLAYED, "OF SORTS"; AND HOW TITA WAS MUCH HARRIED, BUT HOW SHE BORE HERSELF VALIANTLY, AND HOW, NOT KNOWING OF HER VICTORIES, SHE WON ALL THROUGH. There had been no question about it; it had been a walk-over. Even Lord Eshurst and Miss Staines, who are considered quite crack people at tennis in this part of the county, had not had a chance. Tita had been everywhere; she seemed to fly. Every ball caught, and every ball so well planted. Rylton had scarcely been in it, though a good player. That little thing was here and there and everywhere, yet Rylton could not say she poached. Whatever she did, however, she _won_. She does not throw up her cap this time--perhaps she had seen a little of that laughter before--but she claps her hands joyfully, and pats Rylton's arm afterwards in a _bon camarade_ fashion that seems to amuse him. And is she tired? There is no sense of fatigue, certainly, in the way she runs up the slope again, and flings herself gracefully upon the rug beside Mr. Gower. Mr. Gower has not stirred from that rug since. He seldom stirs. Perhaps he would not be quite so stout if he did. "You won your game?" says Margaret Knollys, bending towards Tita, with a smile. Old Lady Eshurst is smiling at her, too. "Oh yes; how could I help it? Sir Maurice"--with a glance at the latter as he climbs the slope in turn--"plays like an angel." "Oh no; it is you who do that," says he, laughing. "Are you an angel, Miss Bolton?" asks Mrs. Bethune, who is standing next Rylton. He had gone straight to her, but she had not forgiven his playing with the girl at all, and a sense of hatred towards Tita is warming her breast. "I don't know," says Tita, with a slight grimace. It is not the answer expected. Marian had expected to see her shy, confused; Tita, on the contrary, is looking at her with calm, inquiring eyes. "Do you?" asks she. "I have not gone into it," says Mrs. Bethune, with as distinct a sneer as she can allow herself. Mr. Gower laughs. "You're good at games," says he to Tita. He might have meant her powers at tennis, he might have meant _anything_. "That last game you are thinking of?" "Decidedly, the last game," says Gower, who laughs again immoderately. "I don't see what there is to laugh at," says Miss Bolton, with some indignation. "'They laugh who win,' is an old proverb. But _you_ didn't win; you weren't in it." "I expect I never shall be," says Gower. "Yet lookers-on have their advantage ascribed to them by a pitiful Providence. They see most of the game." "It is I who should laugh," says Tita, who has not been following him. _"I_ won--we"--looking, with an honest desire to be just to all people, at Sir Maurice--_"we_ won." "No, no; leave it in the singular," says Maurice, making her a little gesture of self-depreciation. "You seem very active," says Margaret kindly. "I watched you at golf yesterday. You liked it?"