Despite the spilling of blood the cut was a trifling one, and after giving it simple treatment, the doctor assured Wallace that he could attend to his duties as usual.  An hour later the nervy Scotchman was out on the links giving Lawson a lesson.

We picked the knife from the walk near the scene of the encounter.  The blow had been aimed at the breast or neck, but Wallace parried it and received the scratch before he could grasp LaHume’s wrist.  The quick wrench which caused the knife to fly from LaHume’s hand fractured one of the small bones in his forearm, as was learned when that desperate young man had more fully recovered.

It was a disagreeable incident, and I take no pleasure in recording it.  Wallace immediately tendered his resignation, but Carter and I told him it would not be considered, and I am sure the management will uphold us in that action.

The conduct of Miss Lawrence convinces me that she is much attached to Wallace.  Of course, nothing else was talked of during the afternoon and evening.

In the cool of the day Miss Harding accepted my invitation to play “the brook holes,” as we call them, and we climbed to the top of “The Eagle’s Nest” to watch the sunset.

I helped her up the steep rocks and finally we stood breathless, gazing down on our little world.

“At last we are alone,” I said.

It was one of my usual brilliant remarks.  There must have been a ring of tragedy or melodrama in my voice, but really I said it only because I could think of nothing else to say at that moment.

Miss Harding looked up with a curious expression in her deep brown eyes and a rather timid smile on her lips.  It was as if she were wondering if I meditated hurling myself to the depths below, or if I intended to take this opportunity to launch some tender declaration.

I wish I had the command of language of the garrulous and ever entertaining hero of the popular novel.  If I ever propose it will be in writing.

I can see that look of startled curiosity on her pretty face as I write these lines, and the more I think of it, the more am I convinced that she expected something far different from what followed.

I wonder what she would have said or done if I had thrown myself at her feet and passionately declared the love I bear to her?  I wonder if those tender lips would have murmured the words which would have raised me to the seventh heaven of happiness, or if she would have firmly said—­oh, what is the use of wondering?

“No danger of being hit with a golf ball up here,” I said, when she remained silent.

And then she laughed.  Since there was nothing witty in my remark she must have been laughing at something else.  I have an idea what it was, but I had sense enough to laugh with her.

“Do you know,” I said, determined to frame a rational statement, “I believe Miss Lawrence is in love with Mr. Wallace.”