. The Sweet Briar Magazine. THE SWEET BRIAR MAGAZINE 247. 3fune A Sketch T was June; the air was heavy with thebreath of roses, the silence was broken nowand then by the call of a distant whip-poor-will, then all was still again. The Boylay on the lush grass, his magnificentyoung body stretched to its full length. Hewas gazing dreamily at the stars overhead, vague thoughtswandered at random through his brain, vague feelingsstirred within him. He had played tennis all the golden afternoon—battingball after ball over the white net, but somehow the game hadlost its savor and he had wished once or
. The Sweet Briar Magazine. THE SWEET BRIAR MAGAZINE 247. 3fune A Sketch T was June; the air was heavy with thebreath of roses, the silence was broken nowand then by the call of a distant whip-poor-will, then all was still again. The Boylay on the lush grass, his magnificentyoung body stretched to its full length. Hewas gazing dreamily at the stars overhead, vague thoughtswandered at random through his brain, vague feelingsstirred within him. He had played tennis all the golden afternoon—battingball after ball over the white net, but somehow the game hadlost its savor and he had wished once or twice, almost irri-tably, that Millicent was not such an indefatigable oppon-ent. She had seemed tireless; enjoying the game thor-oughly, as was her wont, and taking perfect delight incalling out in her clear, young voice, Love game—lovegame, what was it, what was love ? mused the Boy. He hadnever thought much about it, had rather scoffed at it, at whatsome very foolish people called love. He rose restlessly and half unconsciously turned his stepsi
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