“Oh, I daresay,” said she. “If I’ve got to have somebody, I’ll have a county man or nobody.” “You’d have the Right Honourable Arthur James Balfour, M.P.,” said I, to illustrate how monstrously untenable was the position she had taken up. “There’s never a girl that wouldn’t, if I know anything.” “Balfour, Balfour,” said Grace. “Balfour. Oh, yes, you mean the golf Johnny. Golf! What next? Look here, Dimmy, do you take me for a muff? Why, I wouldn’t marry Willie Park.” “No,” said I; “because you’re going to marry me.” “Nothing under a county cricketer,” said she, with an air of finality. “Besides, the boys ’ud be just awful. Now then, Dimmy, out o’ the way. I’ve heard you out all fair and square, haven’t I?” “Not by a lot,” said I. “My dear Grace, if you don’t be reasonable, I shall have to declaim. Don’t want to, I can assure you, but as a last resort I shall certainly be obliged to lift up my voice.” “Angels and ministers of grace!” cried the unhappy young person of that name; “I’ve let you down ever so gently, and this is what I get for it. You’re ungrateful, Dimmy, that’s what you are! Now then, let me pass.” “I’m not a county cricketer,” I began. “It’s no secret,” said Grace. “But I mean to be,” said I. “May get a trial for the county this year. And didn’t you say yourself that my crack to cover was all serene?” These particular reminiscences of my batting promised to modify Grace’s point of view. “I’d clean forgotten your crack to cover,” said she, with a fallen look. “Hope I’ve not said anything very rude, Dimmy. If I have, I’m awf’ly humble.” “You’ve been pretty thick,” said I, following up what looked like an advantage. “And you said my forward stroke was not so dusty, didn’t you?” “Very decent, indeed,” said the keen critic. “Honour bright, Dimmy, I wasn’t really _very_ rude, was I?” “Depends what you call rude,” said I. “You see, there’s no standard measure of rudeness in this country. You threw books and things at me, but that’s a detail.” “So I did,” she said sadly. “But I’d clean forgot your crack to cover. Makes me feel rather sick, Dimmy, when I think what I may have said. You ought to have reminded me. One can’t think of everything; ’specially as you’re quite an ordinary looking sort o’ chap.” “There you go again,” said I. “That’s not what I meant _exactly_,” said this frank young person. “What I mean is, you’re not six four, and chest according. But, Dimmy, _are_ you going to let me pass?” “Not till I’ve had something definite,” said I. “You’ve got it,” said she. “Oh, dear no,” said I. “You say nothing under a county cricketer. Well, as I’m certain to be a county cricketer, your reply’s inadequate.” “I like the certain,” said Grace. “I should go ‘Abundance’ on the certain.” “The certain’s assumed for the sake of argument,” said I. “Dimmy, _will_ you let me pass--_please_!” “Will you give me some hope?” said I. “Let me pass first,” said Grace, “then we’ll talk about it.”