Mentally, he went round and round in circles, but he
could find no exit. There is no file to saw the bars of circumstance.
That the lithe young figure on the other side of the net, here, there,
backward and forward, alert, accurate, bubbling with energy . . .
Once, a mad rollicking impulse seized and urged him to vault the net
and take her in his arms and hold her still for a moment. But he knew.
She was using him as an athlete uses a trainer before a real contest.
There was something more behind his stroke than mere awkwardness. It
was downright savagery. Generally when a man is in anger or despair he
longs to smash things; and these inoffensive tennis-balls were to
Thomas a gift of the gods. Each time one sailed away over the
backstop, it was like the pop of a safety-valve; it averted an
explosion.
"That will be enough!" cried Kitty, as the last of a dozen balls sailed
toward the distant stables.
The tennis-courts were sunken and round them ran a parapet of lawn,
crisp and green, with marble benches opposite the posts, generally used
as judges' stands.
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