Chapter XIV. Gathering Clouds

On the Rectory lawn a hard-fought game had just finished, bringing to a conclusion a lengthened series of contests which had extended over a whole week, in which series Patricia, with her devoted cavalier, Victor Forsythe, had been forced to accept defeat at the hands of her sister and her partner, Hugh Maynard.

"Partner, you were wonderful in that last set!" said Patricia, as they moved off together to offer their congratulations to their conquerors.

"Patsy," said her partner, in a low voice, "as ever, you are superb in defeat as in victory. Superb, unapproachable, wonderful."

"Anything else, Vic?" inquired Patsy, grinning at the youth.

"Oh, a whole lot more, Pat, if you only give me a chance to tell you."

"No time just now," cried Patricia as she reached the others. "Well, you two deserved to win. You played ripping tennis," she continued, offering Hugh her hand.

"So did you, Pat. You were at the very top of your form."

"Well, some other day," said Vic. "I think we are improving a bit, partner. A little more close harmony will do the trick."

"Come away, children," said Mrs. Templeton, calling to them from the shade at the side of the courts. "You must be very tired and done out. Why, how hot you look, Patricia."

"Stunning, I should say!" murmured Vic, looking at her with adoring eyes.

And a truly wonderful picture the girl made, in her dainty muslin frock, her bold red hair tossed in a splendid aureole about her face. Care-free, heart-free, as she flashed from her hearty blue eyes her saucy and bewitching glances at her partner's face, her mother sighed, thinking that her baby girl was swiftly slipping away from her and forever into that wider world of womanhood where others would claim her.

In lovely contrast stood her sister, dressed in flannel skirt and sweater of old gold silk, fair, tall, beautiful, a delicate grace in every line of her body and a proud, yet gentle strength in every feature of her face. There dwelt in her deep blue eyes a look of hidden, mysterious power which had wrought in her mother a certain fear of her eldest daughter. The mother never quite knew what to expect from Adrien. Yet, for all, she carried an assured confidence that whatever she might do, her daughter never would shame the high traditions of her race.

The long shadows from the tall elms lay across the velvet sward of the Rectory lawn. The heat of the early June day had given place to the cool air of the evening. The exquisitely delicate colouring from the setting sun flooded the sky overhead and deepened into blues and purples behind the elms and the church spire. A deep peace had fallen upon the world except that from the topmost bough of the tallest elm tree a robin sang, pouring his very heart out