The next ball was beaten back and forth until Granton dashed it to the ground at Betty’s very feet. “Thirty; fifteen.” The excitement was at its height. Even those who did not appreciate the finer points of the play caught the interest and somehow understood pretty accurately how matters stood, and were as earnest as the rest. Small-talk was forgotten, heads were craned forward, and all eyes were fixed upon the players. Betty grasped her racquet by[127] the extreme end of its handle, and held the ball as high above her head as she could reach. [127] “Play!” She struck it with all her force. “Forty; fifteen,” was the scorer’s call; and Nat Granton understood that only one stroke lay between him and defeat by a love set. George Snow deliberately turned away his face. “I never supposed I could be such a consummate fool,” he said afterward, “but I positively could not look at your last service, Bet. I felt as if the whole universe were at stake.” As for the player, she was fairly pale with excitement; but her head was clear and her hand steady. She paused an instant, poising her racquet. She observed that Granton stood near the middle of his court. With a quick step she moved to the very outer corner of her own and sent a swift ball sharply under her opponent’s left hand. “Game; love set,” called the scorer. “Sets two to one in favor of Miss Mork.” And, amid what for Maugus was a really astonishing round of applause, Betty, flushed but triumphant, walked to the net to shake hands with her vanquished lover. [128] [128] V. It was astonishing how humble and forgiving her victory made Mistress Betty. She was troubled with the fear that she had been unmaidenly, that she had hurt Granton’s feelings and alienated his friendship forever, with a dozen more scruples quite as absurd and irrational. It
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