"I am to congratulate, I suppose?" he asked, as they crossed the garden to the tennis-court. Fisher looked at him gravely, a hint of suspicion in his eyes. "You may, if it gives you any pleasure to do so, my boy," he said. "Ah, that's good!" said Charlie. "You're a jolly good fellow, old chap. You'll make her awfully happy." "I shall do my best," Fisher said. Charlie passed instantly to less serious matters, but the critical look did not pass entirely from Fisher's face. He seemed to be watching for something, for some card that Charlie did not appear disposed to play. Throughout the hard set that followed, his vigilance did not relax; but Charlie played with all his customary zest. Tennis was to him for the time being the only thing worth doing on the face of the earth. In his enthusiasm he speedily stripped off his coat and rolled his sleeves to the shoulder as if it had been the hottest summer day. At the end of the set, which Charlie won, a couple of spectators who had come up unseen applauded their energy, and Charlie, swinging round in flushed triumph, raced up for a word with his host and Molly Erie. "I can't stuff over a fire all the afternoon," he said. "But the light is getting bad, isn't it? Fisher and I will have to knock off. Are you two going for a walk? We'll come, too, if you are, eh, Fisher?" He turned towards Fisher, who had come up, and held out his hand for the other's racquet. Molly uttered a sudden startled exclamation. "Why, Charlie," she ejaculated, "what have you done to your arm? What is the matter with it?" Charlie jumped at her startled tone and tore down his shirt-sleeve hastily. "An old wound," he said, with a shame-faced laugh. She put her gloved hand swiftly on his to stay his operations. "No, tell me!" she said. "What is it--really? How was it done?" "You will never get him to tell you that," laughed Bertie Richmond. "You had better ask Fisher." "Oh, rats!" cried Charlie vehemently. "Fisher, I'll break your head with this racquet if you give my show away. Come along! I believe the moon has contracted a romantic habit of rising over the sea when the sun sets. Let's go and----" "I'll tell you, Molly," broke in Bertie, linking a firm arm in Charlie's to keep him quiet. "He can't break his host's head, you know. It's a scald, eh, Charlie? He got it in the engine-room of the _Andover_ one night in the autumn. You were on board, you know. Help me to hold him, Fisher! He's getting restive. But I thought you knew all about it, Molly. You told me so." "Oh, I didn't know--this!" the girl said. "How could I? I never guessed--this!" Her three listeners were all surprised by the tragic note in her voice. There was a momentary silence. Then Charlie made a fierce attempt to wrest himself free. "You infernal idiots!" he exclaimed violently. "Fisher, if you interfere with me any more I--I'll punch your head! Bertie, don't be such a fool!" He shook them off with an angry effort. Fisher laughed quietly.