right.”
“Nonsense!”
Luke looked at her. His face had a queer pallor, like a man who is suffering physical pain. He said, “I have a right. I've the right of caring for you - what did you say just now? - of caring so much that it hurts!”
She drew back a step. She said, “You -”
“Yes, funny, isn't it? The sort of thing that ought to give you a hearty laugh! I came down here to do a job of work and you came round the corner of that house and - how can I say it? - put a spell on me! That's what it feels like. You mentioned fairy stories just now. I'm caught up in a fairy story! You've bewitched me. I've a feeling that if you pointed your finger at me and said, 'Turn into a frog,' I'd go hopping away with my eyes popping out of my head.” He took a step nearer to her. “I love you like hell, Bridget Conway. And, loving you like hell, you can't expect me to enjoy seeing you get married to a pot-bellied, pompous little peer who loses his temper when he doesn't win at tennis.”
“What do you suggest I should do?”
“I suggest that you should marry me instead. But doubtless that suggestion will give rise to a lot of merry laughter.”
“The laughter is positively uproarious.”
“Exactly. Well, now we know where we are. Shall we return to the tennis court? Perhaps this time you will find me a partner who can play to win.”
“Really,” said Bridget sweetly. “I believe you mind losing just as much as Gordon does.”
Luke caught her suddenly by the shoulders.
“You've got a devilish tongue, haven't you, Bridget?”
“I'm afraid you don't like me very much, Luke, however great your passion for me.”
“I don't think I like you at all.”
Bridget said, watching him, “You meant to get married and settle down when you came home, didn't you?”
“Yes.”
“But not to someone like me?”
“I never thought of anyone in the least like you.”
“No, you wouldn't. I know your type. I know it exactly.”
“You are so clever, dear Bridget.”
“A really nice girl, thoroughly English, fond of the country and good with dogs. You probably visualized her in a tweed skirt, stirring a log fire with the tip of her shoe.”
“The picture sounds most attractive.”
“I'm sure it does. Shall we return to the tennis court? You can play with Rose Humbleby. She's so good that you're practically certain to win.”
“Being old-fashioned, I must allow you to have the last word.”
Again there was a pause. Then Luke took his hands slowly from her shoulders. They both stood uncertain, as though something still unsaid lingered between them.
Then Bridget turned abruptly and led the way back. The next set was just ending.
Rose protested against playing again. “I've played two sets running.”
Bridget, however, insisted. “I'm feeling tired. I don't want to play. You and Mr. Fitzwilliam take on Miss Jones and Major Horton.”
But Rose continued to protest, and in the end a men's four was arranged. Afterward came tea.
Lord Easterfield conversed with Doctor Thomas, describing at length and with great self-importance a visit he had recently paid to the Wellerman Kreitz Research Laboratories.
“I wanted to understand the trend of the latest scientific discoveries for myself,” he explained earnestly. “I'm responsible for what my papers print. I feel that very keenly. This is a scientific age. Science must be made easily assimilable by the masses.”
“A little science might possibly be a dangerous thing,” said Doctor Thomas, with a slight shrug of his shoulders.
“Science in the home - that's what we have to aim at,” said Lord Easterfield. “Science-minded -”
“Test-tube conscious,” said Bridget gravely.
“I was impressed,” said Lord Easterfield. “Wellerman took me round himself, of course. I begged him to leave me to an underling, but he insisted.”
“Naturally,” said Luke.
Lord Easterfield looked gratified. “And he explained everything most clearly - the cultures, the
“Nonsense!”
Luke looked at her. His face had a queer pallor, like a man who is suffering physical pain. He said, “I have a right. I've the right of caring for you - what did you say just now? - of caring so much that it hurts!”
She drew back a step. She said, “You -”
“Yes, funny, isn't it? The sort of thing that ought to give you a hearty laugh! I came down here to do a job of work and you came round the corner of that house and - how can I say it? - put a spell on me! That's what it feels like. You mentioned fairy stories just now. I'm caught up in a fairy story! You've bewitched me. I've a feeling that if you pointed your finger at me and said, 'Turn into a frog,' I'd go hopping away with my eyes popping out of my head.” He took a step nearer to her. “I love you like hell, Bridget Conway. And, loving you like hell, you can't expect me to enjoy seeing you get married to a pot-bellied, pompous little peer who loses his temper when he doesn't win at tennis.”
“What do you suggest I should do?”
“I suggest that you should marry me instead. But doubtless that suggestion will give rise to a lot of merry laughter.”
“The laughter is positively uproarious.”
“Exactly. Well, now we know where we are. Shall we return to the tennis court? Perhaps this time you will find me a partner who can play to win.”
“Really,” said Bridget sweetly. “I believe you mind losing just as much as Gordon does.”
Luke caught her suddenly by the shoulders.
“You've got a devilish tongue, haven't you, Bridget?”
“I'm afraid you don't like me very much, Luke, however great your passion for me.”
“I don't think I like you at all.”
Bridget said, watching him, “You meant to get married and settle down when you came home, didn't you?”
“Yes.”
“But not to someone like me?”
“I never thought of anyone in the least like you.”
“No, you wouldn't. I know your type. I know it exactly.”
“You are so clever, dear Bridget.”
“A really nice girl, thoroughly English, fond of the country and good with dogs. You probably visualized her in a tweed skirt, stirring a log fire with the tip of her shoe.”
“The picture sounds most attractive.”
“I'm sure it does. Shall we return to the tennis court? You can play with Rose Humbleby. She's so good that you're practically certain to win.”
“Being old-fashioned, I must allow you to have the last word.”
Again there was a pause. Then Luke took his hands slowly from her shoulders. They both stood uncertain, as though something still unsaid lingered between them.
Then Bridget turned abruptly and led the way back. The next set was just ending.
Rose protested against playing again. “I've played two sets running.”
Bridget, however, insisted. “I'm feeling tired. I don't want to play. You and Mr. Fitzwilliam take on Miss Jones and Major Horton.”
But Rose continued to protest, and in the end a men's four was arranged. Afterward came tea.
Lord Easterfield conversed with Doctor Thomas, describing at length and with great self-importance a visit he had recently paid to the Wellerman Kreitz Research Laboratories.
“I wanted to understand the trend of the latest scientific discoveries for myself,” he explained earnestly. “I'm responsible for what my papers print. I feel that very keenly. This is a scientific age. Science must be made easily assimilable by the masses.”
“A little science might possibly be a dangerous thing,” said Doctor Thomas, with a slight shrug of his shoulders.
“Science in the home - that's what we have to aim at,” said Lord Easterfield. “Science-minded -”
“Test-tube conscious,” said Bridget gravely.
“I was impressed,” said Lord Easterfield. “Wellerman took me round himself, of course. I begged him to leave me to an underling, but he insisted.”
“Naturally,” said Luke.
Lord Easterfield looked gratified. “And he explained everything most clearly - the cultures, the
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