“Oh, yes you have!  You know him very well!”

“I?”

“Yes, you; you dear old stupid!”

“Who on earth is Lord Wallace Marwick, or whatever his name is?”

“Bishop’s hired man!”

“Wallace?”

“Wallace, our club professional!”

“And his bride is—?”

“Can you not guess?” she exclaimed.

“Miss Olive Lawrence,” I hazarded.

“Really, Jack, you are improving.  Two weeks from this noon Bishop’s hired man, Lord Wallace Marwick, will be united in marriage with Olive Lawrence!”

If she had told me that her father had bought the English throne and was about to be crowned I should not have been more surprised.

“What was he doing at Bishop’s?” I gasped.

“He was studying farming,” she explained.  “It seems that his father invested heavily in farming lands in the abandoned districts of New England.  Upon his death Wallace determined to acquire a practical knowledge of the methods of American farming, and this was the way in which he went about it.  He had already worked on two farms before he applied to Mr. Bishop.  He was about to return to Scotland when he met Miss Lawrence.  The reasons for his subsequent course you certainly must understand.”

“How soon did Miss Lawrence learn that he was—­that he was what he is?”

“Shortly after he became our professional.” she replied.  “That disclosure, and certain other disclosures constituted one of her ‘lessons.’  Olive confided the secret to me, and this is the principal reason we are here.”

“Sweetheart,” I said, after an interval of silence, “would it not be splendid to have our wedding at the same time?  I have always been—­been partial to double weddings.”

“I do not know,” she whispered, looking intently at the tip of her dainty shoe.  “Perhaps—­perhaps—­I don’t know what papa and mamma would think about it.”

I heard the crunching of gravel.

“Don’t you folks ever eat?” demanded a familiar voice, and Mr. Harding bore down upon us.  We said nothing.

“Do you know what time it is?” he added, with an impatience which puzzled me.

“I have not the slightest idea,” I truthfully replied.

“Well, it’s nearly two o’clock,” he declared, looking at his watch.  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Smith, and then I began to be worried about you,” turning to his daughter.  “Why, Kid, you’ve had time to paint this old stone shack two coats.”

“I imagine I’m to blame,” I interposed.

“Have you forgotten, Smith, that you have an engagement to play a foursome with old Tom Morris, Carter and myself this afternoon?” he said, looking at us rather suspiciously, I thought.

“I have another engagement,” I returned, mustering all my courage.

“What’s that?”

“I have an engagement with Grace for life, and we wish to know if you will give your consent to our marriage two weeks from to-day!”