“The usual charge,” she remarked, “is tenpence, and twopence for lunch.”

“I will take it in kind!” he said.

She laughed gaily.

“Give me a mashie, please.”

He peered into the bag.

“Which of these clubs now,” he asked, “rejoices in that weird name?”

She helped herself, and played her shot.

“I couldn’t think,” she said, firmly, “of paying the full price to a caddie who doesn’t know what a mashie is.”

“I will be thankful,” he murmured, “for whatever you may give me—­even if it should be that carnation you are wearing.”

She shook her head.

“It is worth more than tenpence,” she said.

“Perhaps by extra diligence,” he suggested, “I might deserve a little extra.  By the bye, why does your partner, Mr. Lindsay, isn’t it, walk by himself all the time?”

“He probably thinks,” she answered, demurely, “that I am too familiar with my caddie.”

“You will understand,” he said, earnestly, “that if my behaviour is not strictly correct it is entirely owing to ignorance.  I have no idea as to the exact position a caddie should take up.”

“What a pity you are going away so soon,” she said.  “I might have given you lessons.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he begged.  “I can assure you that without me the constitution of this country would collapse within a week.”

She looked at him—­properly awed.

“What a wonderful person you are!”

“I am glad,” he said, meekly, “that you are beginning to appreciate me.”

“As a caddie,” she remarked, “you are not, I must confess, wholly perfect.  For instance, your attention should be entirely devoted to the person whose clubs you are carrying, instead of which you talk to me and watch Mrs. Handsell.”

He was almost taken aback.  For a pretty girl she was really not so much of a fool as he had thought her.

“I deny it in toto!” he declared.

“Ah, but I know you,” she answered.  “You are a politician, and you would deny anything.  Don’t you think her very handsome?”

Borrowdean gravely considered the matter, which was in itself a somewhat humorous thing.  Slim and erect, with a long, graceful neck, and a carriage of the head which somehow suggested the environment of a court, Mrs. Handsell was distinctly, even from a distance, a pleasant person to look upon.  He nodded approvingly.

“Yes, she is good-looking,” he admitted.  “Is she a neighbour of yours?”

“She has taken a house within a hundred yards of ours,” Clara Mannering answered.  “We all think that she is delightful.”

“Is she a widow?” Borrowdean asked.

“I imagine so,” she answered.  “I have never heard her speak of her husband.  She has beautiful dresses and things.  I should think she must be very rich.  Stand quite still, please.  I must take great pains over this stroke.”