with her. She threw her whole soul into her playing, every point she lost arousing her to new exertions.

[123]

“By Jove! Dora,” George said, “Granton’s bound to get a lesson. Betty’s blood is getting up. I’m convinced now that she’ll win, and I’ll bet you the gloves that she beats him a love set before she’s done.”

Dora was too excited to answer him. She hoped he might be right, but just now Betty was losing. She had been beaten three games out of five, and the present one, on Granton’s service, was going hard against her. Granton was harassing her with his short cut, which fell before her racquet reached it nearly every time.

“What’s got into her?” George muttered uneasily. “Ah, that was better. Good return.”

And he led the hand-clapping which greeted the difficult stroke by which Betty brought the score up to deuce. The game[124] went against her, however, and soon after, the set.

[124]

“I’ll do it, George,” Betty said under her breath, as she passed him in changing courts. “Don’t be discouraged. The Mork blood is up.”

“It’s all on his cuts, Bet. Run up to them. Watch his service, and you can tell when they are coming. Nat could never serve a decent swift ball.”

Betty nodded and went on to her place.

“Play!” called Granton.

Watching him, his opponent noticed him throw his head back, and remembered his telling her that he always betrayed his cutting. She ran toward the net as the ball came down, and returned it like a cannonball.

“She’s got it!” cried Snow, with great glee, in his excitement calling so loudly that both the players heard him. “She’s all right now. Oh, that’s beautiful!”

Granton tried a couple of swift balls and faulted them both.

“Love; thirty,” called the scorer.

Another cut; again cleverly intercepted; then a fault and an easy, round-hand service.

“Love; game.”

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