this sort."

"Then you ought to be," he declared. "Nothing but the lonely life you
have been living has kept you from hearing them continually."

She laughed a little at the impotence of her rebuff and paused for a
moment to make her next shot. Hamel, standing a little on one side,
watched her appraisingly. Her short, grey tweed skirt was obviously the
handiwork of an accomplished tailor. Her grey stockings and suede shoes
were immaculate and showed a care for her appearance which pleased him.
Her swing, too, revealed a grace, the grace of long arms and a supple
body, at which previously he had only guessed. The sunshine seemed to
have brought out a copper tinge from her abundant brown hair.

"Do you know," he remarked, "I think I am beginning to like your uncle.
Great idea of his, sending us off here directly after breakfast."

Her face darkened for a moment, and he realised his error. The same
thought, indeed, had been in both their minds. Mr. Fentolin's courteous
suggestion had been offered to them almost in the shape of a command. It
was scarcely possible to escape from the reflection that he had desired
to rid himself of their presence for the morning.

"Of course," he went on, "I knew that these links were good--quite
famous, aren't they?"

"I have played on so few others," she told him. "I learned my golf here
with King, the professional."

He took off his cap and handed it to his caddy. He himself was beginning
already to look younger. The long blue waves came rippling up the
creeks. The salt wind, soft with sunshine, blew in their faces. The
marshes on the landward side were mauve with lavender blossom. In the
distance, the red-tiled cottages nestled deep among a background of
green trees and rising fields.

"This indeed is a land of peace," he declared. "If I hadn't to give you
quite so many strokes, I should be really enjoying myself."

"You don't play like a man who has been living abroad for a great
many years," she remarked. "Tell me about some of the places you have
visited?"

"Don't let us talk seriously," he begged. "I'll tell you of them but let
it be later on. This morning I feel that the spring air is getting into
my head. I have an absurd desire to talk nonsense."

"So far," she admitted, "you haven't been altogether unsuccessful."

"If you are alluding," he replied, "to the personal remarks I was
emboldened to make on my way here, I can only say that they were excused
by their truthfu