"Come and have a single on the asphalt court!" he said. "I haven't tried
it yet. I want to."

Fisher was reluctant, but yielded to persuasion.

They went off together, Charlie with an affectionate arm round his
friend's shoulders.

"I am to congratulate, I suppose?" he asked, as they crossed the garden
to the tennis-court.

Fisher looked at him gravely, a hint of suspicion in his eyes.

"You may, if it gives you any pleasure to do so, my boy," he said.

"Ah, that's good!" said Charlie. "You're a jolly good fellow, old chap.
You'll make her awfully happy."

"I shall do my best," Fisher said.

Charlie passed instantly to less serious matters, but the critical look
did not pass entirely from Fisher's face. He seemed to be watching for
something, for some card that Charlie did not appear disposed to play.

Throughout the hard set that followed, his vigilance did not relax; but
Charlie played with all his customary zest. Tennis was to him for the
time being the only thing worth doing on the face of the earth. In his
enthusiasm he speedily stripped off his coat and rolled his sleeves to
the shoulder as if it had been the hottest summer day.