love." And, instead of bringing peace and content--the whole gamut of
the virtues--hell awoke in little Billy Garrison's soul.

The second time he had seen her was the day following his arrival, and
when he had started on Doctor Blandly's open-air treatment.

"I'll have a partner over to put you through your paces in tennis," Mrs.
Calvert had said, a quiet twinkle in her eye. And shortly afterward, as
Garrison was aimlessly batting the balls about, feeling very much like
an overgrown schoolboy, Sue Desha, tennis-racket in hand, had come up
the drive.

She was bareheaded, dressed in a blue sailor costume, her sleeves rolled
high on her firm, tanned arms. She looked very businesslike, and was, as
Garrison very soon discovered.

Three sets were played in profound silence, or, rather, the girl made a
spectacle out of Garrison. Her services were diabolically unanswerable;
her net and back court game would have merited the earnest attention of
an expert, and Garrison hardly knew where a racket began or ended.

At the finish he was covered with perspiration and confusion, while his
opponent, apparently, had not begun to warm up. By mutual consent, they
occupied a seat underneath a spreading magnolia-tree, and then the girl
insisted upon Garrison resuming his coat. They were like two children.

"You'll get cold; you're not strong," said the girl finally, with the
manner of a very old and experienced mother. She was four years younger
than Garrison. "Put it on; you're not strong. That's right. Always
obey."