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"Is she not! Isn't she the Mrs. Oliver--Charlotte Oliver--who is such friends--she and her husband, I mean, of course,--""What do you mean?" I demanded. "To whom are you pledged for any such--"The doctor's astonishment was turned into annoyance by the spectacle of his shattered wicket. A vague clatter of applause broke out. The wicket-keeper stooped down to pick up the bails. The fielders relaxed and flopped down on the grass. They seemed to have discovered suddenly that it was a hot afternoon, and that cricket was, after all, a comparatively strenuous game. One of the umpires, a sly, nasty fellow, screwed up his eyes and looked hard at the doctor as the latter passed him, walking with the slow, meditative gait of the bowled out, and swinging his gloves. There was nothing to do but to glare back, and make the umpire feel a worm. The doctor wore an eye-glass, and he succeeded admirably. His irritation boiled over and produced a sense of ungovernable, childish rage. Somehow, he had not been able to make any runs this season, and his bowling average was all to pieces. He began to think he ought to give up cricket. He was getting[Pg 3] past the age when a man can accept reverses in the spirit of the game, and he was sick and tired of seeing his name every week in the Great Wymering Gazette as having been dismissed for a "mere handful."I halted; not making a point of valor or discretion, but because he was Charlotte Oliver's husband. I read his purpose and listened behind me as we parleyed. "Don't halt me, sir, I'm a courier and in a hurry."��H��m! I wonder if you��d have thought that if you had been the purchaser.��The bunch beamed an ecstatic bliss. What was the explanation; had her father arrived, or--or somebody else? The question went through me like an arrow. Was the cause of this heavenly radiance somebody else?--that was the barb; or was it I?--that was the soothing feather.<000005>