'How curious,' said Margaret.
'Very curious,' said Archibald.
'Most curious,' said Mrs. Milsom.
They were still reflecting on the singularity of this fact when the door opened, and the son of the house entered in person.
'Thought I should find you here, Mealing,' he said. 'They gave me this at the station to give to you; you dropped it this morning when you got out of the train.'
He handed Archibald the missing pouch.
'Thanks,' said the latter huskily. 'When you say this morning, of course you mean this afternoon, but thanks all the same-thanks-thanks.'
'No, Archibald Mealing, he does not mean this afternoon,' said Mrs. Milsom. 'Stuyvesant, speak! From what train did that guf-did Mr. Mealing alight when he dropped the tobacco-pouch?'
'The ten o'clock, the fellow told me. Said he would have given it back to him then only he sprinted off in the deuce of a hurry.'
Six eyes focussed themselves upon Archibald.
'Margaret,' he said, 'I will not try to deceive you-'
'You may try,' observed Mrs. Milsom, 'but you will not succeed.'
'Well, Archibald?'
Archibald fingered his collar.
'There was no taximeter accident.'
'Ah!' said Mrs. Milsom.
'The fact is, I have been playing in a golf tournament.'
Margaret uttered an exclamation of surprise.
'Playing golf!'
Archibald bowed his head with manly resignation.
'Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you arrange for us to meet on the links? I should have loved it.'
Archibald was amazed.
'You take an interest in golf, Margaret? You! I thought you scorned it, considered it an unintellectual game. I thought you considered all games unintellectual.'
'Why, I play golf myself. Not very well.'
'Margaret! Why didn't you tell me?'
'I thought you might not like it. You were so spiritual, so poetic. I feared you would despise me.'
Archibald took a step forward. His voice was tense and trembling.
'Margaret,' he said, 'this is no time for misunderstandings. We must be open with one another. Our happiness is at stake. Tell me honestly, do you like poetry really?'
Margaret hesitated, then answered bravely:
'No, Archibald,' she said, 'it is as you suspect. I am not worthy of you. I do not like poetry. Ah, you shudder! You turn away! Your face grows hard and scornful!'
'I don't!' yelled Archibald. 'It doesn't! It doesn't do anything of the sort! You've made me another man!'
She stared, wild-eyed, astonished.
'What! Do you mean that you, too-'
'I should just say I do. I tell you I hate the beastly stuff. I only pretended to like it because I thought you did. The hours I've spent learning it up! I wonder I've not got brain fever.'
'Archie! Used you to read it up, too? Oh, if I'd only known!'
'And you forgive me-this morning, I mean?'
'Of course. You couldn't leave a golf tournament. By the way, how did you get on?'
Archibald coughed.
'Rather well,' he said modestly. 'Pretty decently. In fact, not badly. As a matter of fact, I won the championship.'
'The championship!' whispered Margaret. 'Of America?'
'Well, not absolutely of America,' said Archibald. 'But all the same, a championship.'
'My hero.'
'You won't be wanting me for a while, I guess?' said Stuyvesant nonchalantly. 'Think I'll smoke a cigarette on the porch.'
And sobs from the stairs told that Mrs. Milsom was already on her way to her room.
