Chapter 6

AN OLD STORY.

But this was not to be the only eventful conversation
which Mrs. Westmacott held that day, nor was the Admiral
the only person in the Wilderness who was destined to
find his opinions considerably changed. Two neighboring
families, the Winslows from Anerley, and the
Cumberbatches from Gipsy Hill, had been invited to tennis
by Mrs. Westmacott, and the lawn was gay in the evening
with the blazers of the young men and the bright dresses
of the girls. To the older people, sitting round in
their wicker-work garden chairs, the darting, stooping,
springing white figures, the sweep of skirts, and twinkle
of canvas shoes, the click of the rackets and sharp whiz
of the balls, with the continual "fifteen love--fifteen
all!" of the marker, made up a merry and exhilarating
scene. To see their sons and daughters so flushed and
healthy and happy, gave them also a reflected glow,
and it was hard to say who had most pleasure from the
game, those who played or those who watched.

Mrs. Westmacott had just finished a set when she
caught a glimpse of Clara Walker sitting alone at the
farther end of the ground. She ran down the court,
cleared the net to the amazement of the visitors, and
seated herself beside her. Clara's reserved and refined
nature shrank somewhat from the boisterous frankness and
strange manners of the widow, and yet her feminine
instinct told her that beneath all her peculiarities
there lay much that was good and noble. She smiled up at
her, therefore, and nodded a greeting.

"Why aren't you playing, then? Don't, for goodness'
sake, begin to be languid and young ladyish! When you
give up active sports you give up youth."

"I have played a set, Mrs. Westmacott."

"That's right, my dear." She sat down beside her, and
tapped her upon the arm with her tennis racket. "I like
you, my dear, and I am going to call you Clara. You are
not as aggressive as I should wish, Clara, but still I
like you very much. Self-sacrifice is all very well, you
know, but we have had rather too much of it on our side,
and should like to see a little on the other. What do
you think of my nephew Charles?"

The question was so sudden and unexpected that Clara
gave quite a jump in her chair. "I--I--I hardly ever
have thought of your nephew Charles."

"No? Oh, you must think him well over, for I want to
speak to you about him."

"To me? But why?"

"It seemed to me most delicate. You see, Clara, the
matter stands in this way. It is quite possible that I
may soon find myself in a completely new sphere of life,
which will involve fresh duties and make it impossible
for me to keep up a household which Charles can share."