There was an outburst of applause form the others at a particularly
brilliant shot below.

"By George!" cried Westcott, "she's got him. It's Hermia's vantage and
forty-love. O Reggie! A love game, by Jiminy! Hermia, you've won me
a cool hundred."

The game was over and the players shook hands before the net, Hermia
laughing gaily, Armistead's eyes full of honest adoration. They were
handsome children, those two.

Hermia climbed the steps slowly amid the congratulations of the guests
and smiled as Markham came forward to meet her. She was rosy as a
cherub, her bright hair tumbled beneath her crimson hair-band.

"Very good of you to come, Mr. Markham," she said breathlessly. "I
had my eye in, and _couldn't_ stop. I simply had to beat Reggie, you
know," And then as her responsibilities recurred to her, "you've met
everybody? Mrs. Renshaw, Miss Coddington--Mr. Markham--the Hermit of
Thimble Island."

With a laugh she led him away from the others and threw herself in a
lounge chair and motioned him to a seat nearby.

"You see," she said gaily, "her I am--quite safe--and ready to mock at
all seriousness-the grasshopper entertaining the ant. Do you think you
can stand so much gayety, Mr. Markham?"

"Even an ant must have its moments of frivolity."