Blanche heard from the lawn the blow of the mallet on the ball, and the
laughter of the company at some blunder of Sir Patrick's. The precious
seconds were slipping away. She could have boxed Arnold on both ears for
being so unreasonably afraid of her.

"Well," she said, impatiently, "if I did look in your face, what should
I see?"

Arnold made another plunge. He answered: "You would see that I want a
little encouragement."

"From _me?_"

"Yes--if you please."

Blanche looked back over her shoulder. The summer-house stood on an
eminence, approached by steps. The players on the lawn beneath were
audible, but not visible. Any one of them might appear, unexpectedly, at
a moment's notice. Blanche listened. There was no sound of approaching
footsteps--there was a general hush, and then another bang of the mallet
on the ball and then a clapping of hands. Sir Patrick was a privileged
person. He had been allowed, in all probability, to try again; and he
was succeeding at the second effort. This implied a reprieve of some
seconds. Blanche looked back again at Arnold.

"Consider yourself encouraged," she whispered; and instantly added, with
the ineradicable female instinct of self-defense, "within limits!"

Arnold made a last plunge--straight to the bottom, this time.