'But this is a new lot. There are nine of the present team who have
never played in England before.'

'They are very good, are they not?'

'Very good indeed. And the dry summer has helped them. It is the
sticky English wickets which put them off. The wickets are very fast
over there. Giffen is their best all-round man, but Darling and
Iredale and young Hill are good enough for anything. Well, then--O
Lord, what a pity!'

He had turned towards the window as he rose, and saw one of those
little surprises by which Nature relieves the monotony of life in
these islands. The sun had gone, a ragged slate-coloured cloud was
drifting up from over the river, and the rain was falling with a soft
persistency which is more fatal than the most boisterous shower.
There would be no more cricket that day.

'Two coffees and two benedictines,' cried Frank, and they relapsed
into their chairs. But a half-hour passed and the grey cloud was
thicker and the rain more heavy. The cheerless leaden river flowed
slowly under drifting skies. Beyond an expanse of shining pavement
the great black Abbey towered amidst the storm.

'Have you ever done the Abbey, Maude?'

'No, Frank; I should love to.'

'I have only been once--more shame to me to say so! Is it not a sin