if you think it's all right----. Oh, Mary, you little know how I have
dreamed of some day marrying a really first-class golfer! Yes, that was
my vision--of walking up the aisle with some sweet plus two girl on my
arm. You shivered again. You are catching cold.'
'It is a little cold,' said the girl. She spoke in a small voice.
'Let me take you in, sweetheart,' said Mortimer. 'I'll just put you in
a comfortable chair with a nice cup of coffee, and then I think I
really must come out again and tramp about and think how perfectly
splendid everything is.'
* * * * *
They were married a few weeks later, very quietly, in the little
village church of Saint Brule. The secretary of the local golf-club
acted as best man for Mortimer, and a girl from the hotel was the only
bridesmaid. The whole business was rather a disappointment to Mortimer,
who had planned out a somewhat florid ceremony at St. George's, Hanover
Square, with the Vicar of Tooting (a scratch player excellent at short
approach shots) officiating, and 'The Voice That Breathed O'er St.
Andrews' boomed from the organ. He had even had the idea of copying the
military wedding and escorting his bride out of the church under an
arch of crossed cleeks. But she would have none of this pomp. She
insisted on a quiet wedding, and for the honeymoon trip preferred a
tour through Italy. Mortimer, who had wanted to go to Scotland to visit
the birthplace of James Braid, yielded amiably, for he loved her
dearly. But he did not think much of Italy. In Rome, the great
monuments of the past left him cold. Of the Temple of Vespasian, all he
thought was that it would be a devil of a place to be bunkered behind.
The Colosseum aroused a faint spark of interest in him, as he
speculated whether Abe Mitchell would use a full brassey to carry it.
In Florence, the view over the Tuscan Hills from the Torre Rosa,
Fiesole, over which his bride waxed enthusiastic, seemed to him merely
a nasty bit of rough which would take a deal of getting out if.
And so, in the fullness of time, they came home to Mortimer's cosy
little house adjoining the links.
* * * * *
Mortimer was so busy polishing his ninety-four clubs on the evening of
their arrival that he failed to notice that his wife was preoccupied. A
less busy man would have perceived at a glance that she was distinctly
nervous. She started at sudden noises, and once, when he tried the
newest of his mashie-niblicks and broke one of the drawing-room
windows, she screamed sharply. In short her manner was strange, and, if
Edgar Allen Poe had put her into 'The Fall Of the House of Usher', she
would have fitted it like the paper on the wall. She had the air of one
waiting tensely for the approach of some imminent doom. Mortimer,
humming gaily to himself as he sand-papered the blade of his
twenty-second putter, observed none of this. He was thinking of the
morrow's play.
'Your wrist's quite well again now, darling, isn't it?' he said.
'Yes. Yes, quite well.'
'Fine!' said Mortimer. 'We'll breakfast early--say at half-past
