"Mr. Petherbridge and I have won--six--three," she announced. The old gentlemen smiled and murmured their congratulations. She swung to the tea-table some paces away, and plucked Marmaduke by the sleeve, interrupting him in the middle of an argument. He rose politely. "Come and play." "My dear," he said, "I'm such a duffer at games." "Never mind; you'll learn in time." He drew out a grey silk handkerchief as if ready to perspire at the first thought of it. "Tennis makes one so dreadfully hot," said he. Peggy tapped the point of her foot irritably, but she laughed as she turned to Lady Bruce. "What's the good of being engaged to a man if he can't play tennis with you?" "There are other things in life besides tennis, my dear," replied Lady Bruce. The girl flushed, but being aware that a pert answer turneth away pleasant invitations, said nothing. She nodded and went off to her game, and informing Mr. Petherbridge that Lady Bruce was a platitudinous old tabby, flirted with him up to the nice limits of his parsonical dignity. But Marmaduke did not mind. "Games are childish and somewhat barbaric. Don't you think so, Lady Bruce?" "Most young people seem fond of them," replied the lady. "Exercise keeps them in health." "It all depends," he argued. "Often they get exceedingly hot, then they sit about and catch their death of cold." "That's very true," said Lady Bruce. "It's what I'm always telling Sir Archibald about golf. Only last week he caught a severe chill in that very way. I had to rub his chest with camphorated oil." "Just as my poor dear mother used to do to me," said Marmaduke. There followed a conversation on ailments and their treatment, in which Mrs. Conover joined. Marmaduke was quite happy. He knew that the two elderly ladies admired the soundness of his views and talked to him as to one of themselves. "I'm sure, my dear Marmaduke, you're very wise to take care of yourself," said Lady Bruce, "especially now, when you have the responsibilities of married life before you."