It enraged Peter to see how perfectly willing
she was to talk and chat about things of which he knew nothing, and how
more than willing the men were. And then she laughed at what they said!
"That's fifteen-love, isn't it?" Leonore asked him presently.
"He doesn't look over fifteen," actually growled Peter. "I don't know
whether he's in love or not. I suppose he thinks he is. Boys fifteen
years old always do."
Leonore forgot the score, even, in her surprise. "Why," she said, "you
growl just like Betise (the mastiff). Now I know what the papers mean
when they say you roar."
"Well," said Peter, "it makes me cross to see a lot of boys doing
nothing but hit a small ball, and a lot more looking at them and
thinking that it's worth doing." Which was a misstatement. It was not
that which made Peter mad.
"Haven't you ever played tennis?"
"Never. I don't even know how to score."
"Dear me," said Leonore, "You're dreadfully illiterate."
"I know it," growled Peter, "I don't belong here, and have no business
to come.
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