rains but it pours young men--Miss Randolph's young men. We've got
another one now, in his way as objectionable as the first; and though I
don't regard this specimen as an active menace to the car, nor do I
believe he will resort to ripping up the tyres, he has his knife into
me.

Well, we arrived in Pau, which I know of old, and in which I've had some
rather jolly times, as Miss Randolph would put it. Pau is the sort of
place where you meet your friends, and I scented danger, but we were
booked for only two days, and luck had befriended me so well thus far
that I trusted it once more. I came to a hotel at some distance from the
Goddess's. Between two evils I chose the less, and put my name down as
"J. Winston," hoping that if anyone knew me they wouldn't know Miss
Randolph, or _vice versa_. Besides, I took counsel with prudence,
engaged a private sitting-room, and ordered my meals sent up, to avoid
being on show in the _salle a manger_. All seemed serene, when suddenly
an adverse wind began to blow (as usual) from an unexpected quarter.

Lured by fancied security, I took advantage of that idleness for which
Satan is popularly supposed to provide mischief to put in a little
private fun on my own account. On the morning after our arrival in Pau,
Miss Randolph informed me that the car and I would not be wanted, as she
had met some American friends and would be at their disposal during the
day. In an evil moment a golf rage overpowered me, and I yielded, seeing
no special reason why I shouldn't. The Pau links are the best on the
Continent, and I had retained my membership of the club from last year,
when I was here with my mother, so that was all right. I nicked into a
cab and told the man to drive to the golf club.

The steward remembered me, so did the professional; but as it was fairly
early in the morning as well as early in the season there were only a
couple of men in the smoking-room. I sat down to write a letter at a
corner table, and as one of the fellows was talking in loud tones,
advertising all the wares in his shop windows, so to speak, I couldn't
help over-hearing what he said. He had one of those objectionable,
Anglo-maniac, American voices that get on your nerves; you know the
snobbish sort that, instead of being proud as punch of their own
country, want to appear more English than the English, and get up for
the part like an actor with all an actor's exaggerations. Well, this was
one of those voices; and