they were sitting side by side on the sofa, holding hands, just as if
that awful parting had been but a dream.
It was Mortimer who made the first reference to it.
'I say, you know,' he said, 'you oughtn't to have nipped away like
that!'
'I thought you hated me!'
'Hated you! I love you better than life itself! I would sooner
have smashed my pet driver than have had you leave me!'
She thrilled at the words.
'Darling!'
Mortimer fondled her hand.
'I was just coming back to tell you that I loved you still. I was going
to suggest that you took lessons from some good professional. And I
found you gone!'
'I wasn't worthy of you, Mortimer!'
'My angel!' He pressed his lips to her hair, and spoke solemnly. 'All
this has taught me a lesson, dearest. I knew all along, and I know it
more than ever now, that it is you--you that I want. Just you! I don't
care if you don't play golf. I don't care----' He hesitated, then went on
manfully. 'I don't care even if you play croquet, so long as you are
with me!'
For a moment her face showed rapture that made it almost angelic. She
uttered a low moan of ecstasy. She kissed him. Then she rose.
'Mortimer, look!'
'What at?'
'Me. Just look!'
The jigger which he had been polishing lay on a chair close by. She
took it up. From the bowl of golf-balls on the mantelpiece she selected
a brand new one. She placed it on the carpet. She addressed it. Then,
with a merry cry of 'Fore!' she drove it hard and straight through the
glass of the china-cupboard.
'Good God!' cried Mortimer, astounded. It had been a bird of a shot.
She turned to him, her whole face alight with that beautiful smile.
'When I left you, Mortie,' she said, 'I had but one aim in life,
somehow to make myself worthy of you. I saw your advertisements in the
papers, and I longed to answer them, but I was not ready. All this
long, weary while I have been in the village of Auchtermuchtie, in
Scotland, studying under Tamms McMickle.'
'Not the Tamms McMickle who finished fourth in the Open Championship of
1911, and had the best ball in the foursome in 1912 with Jock McHaggis,
Andy McHeather, and Sandy McHoots!'
'Yes, Mortimer, the very same. Oh, it was difficult at first. I missed
my mallet, and long to steady the ball with my foot and use the toe of
the club. Wherever there was a direction post I aimed at it
automatically. But I conquered my weakness. I practised steadily. And
now Mr. McMickle says my handicap would be a good twenty-four on any
links.' She smiled apologetically. 'Of course, that doesn't sound much
to you! You were a twelve when I left you, and now I suppose you are
down to eight or something.'
