Never while she lived, Eveline thought, should she forget the horror she had of that game of lawn-tennis; the part she had to act in it under a glorious sunshine, and the desire she had for the seclusion of her own room, for by contrast with the chaos in her own heart the whole bright scene became a species of grim phantasmagoria. Her heart seemed full of tears; her naturally buoyant and happy spirit was crushed. She dared hardly trust herself to address even Cameron, who saw, with a lover's instinct, that something, he knew not what (unless with reference to Sir Paget), had gone decidedly wrong. We have already adverted to the strong passion an elderly swain like Sir Paget may conceive for a young girl; and, encouraged by her parents' permission, he was now giving full swing to it, as he watched her slender, lithe, and willowy figure in the various postures incident to the game, which tested his powers of action severely, and during a pause in it he approached her with a smile rippling on his rubicund old face, and displaying a set of teeth that were first-rate as to cost and quality. 'My dear Miss Graham,' he said, with a most insinuating jerk of his head, 'why do you avoid me?' 'I am not aware that I avoid you; I hope I don't do so,' replied Eveline, colouring with annoyance, and at the conviction that she certainly had done so. Then, as a kind of hunted feeling came over her, she added; 'but I do not think, Sir Paget, that I am bound to account to you for all I do.' 'Of course not,' said he, with a bow, and Eveline coloured more deeply at the ungraciousness of her own speech; 'of course not, my dear young lady--_as yet_,' he added, under his breath. At last she pleaded illness, fatigue, and headache, threw down her hat, and fairly fled to her own room. CHAPTER XII. A REVELATION TO HOLCROFT. The sudden, unexpected, and unexplained departure of Allan Graham from Dundargue (a reason for which will be given in due time), if it puzzled his family, still more puzzled and piqued Olive, especially after what passed between them on their homeward ride. But then, says Lefanu,--'Women are so enigmatical; some in everything--all in matters of the heart.' The monetary matters of Mr. Hawke Holcroft were approaching a species of crisis now, and he was daily getting orange-coloured missives and messages 'wired' in mysterious terms from jockeys, bookmakers, and other horsey folks that added to his tribulation, for things seemed to be going wrong with him, and he felt that now or never must he attempt to secure the heiress, who, he thought, was only waiting to be carried off. Even loo and écarté in the evening with such pigeon-like players as Sir Paget were beginning to fail as resources. 'Odd fellow in his way,' remarked the baronet to Cameron. 'A trifle too lucky at cards for my taste.' 'Or mine,' said Cameron, grimly. 'Turns up the king too often after the early hours of the morning.'