But the distance to the house was not great. As the children scampered
away to the waiting motor-car she moved briskly to leave the field.
Nick walked beside her with his free, elastic swagger. In a few
moments he reached out and took her hockey-stick from her.
"Jove!" he said. "It did me good to see you shoot that goal."
"I had no idea you were watching," she returned stiffly.
He grinned. "No, I saw that. Fun, wasn't it? Like to know what I said
to myself?"
She made no answer, and his grin became a laugh. "I'm sure you would,
so I'll tell you. I said, 'Prayer Number One is granted,' and I ticked
it off the list, and duly acknowledged the same."
Muriel was plainly mystified. He was in the mood that most baffled
her. "I don't know what you mean," she said at last.
Nick swung the hockey-stick idly. His yellow face, for all its
wrinkles, looked peculiarly complacent.
"Let me explain," he said coolly; "I wanted to see you young again,
and--my want has been satisfied, that's all."
Muriel looked sharply away from him, the vivid colour rushing all over
her face. She remembered--and the memory seemed to stab her--a day
long, long ago when she had lain in this man's arms in the extremity
of helpless suffering, and had heard him praying above her head,
brokenly, passionately, for something far different--something from
which she had come to shrink with a nameless, overmastering dread.
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