nd you planning this lovely, lovely surprise for me. Oh, I am
so glad, Dar, I didn't know you were there, I couldn't have said a
_word_! Did I--were you--was it _passable_?"

"You're fishing!" chuckled he; and he kissed her hand. But he whispered
in her ear; and she blushed like a young girl.

Presently he laughed. "By the way, Myrtle, you haven't told me! Have you
discovered what is the object of the federation?"

"Certainly," said she, "I don't know what it is for others, but in my
case it is to help me find myself--and my husband!"

THE LITTLE LONELY GIRL

The golf links were picturesque; spreading along the shore or climbing
through the heart of the island set in the great river; here and there a
vista of the huge bulk of the arsenal-shops; walled over the river by
the hills behind opulent, bustling little cities, the fair greens
jeweled by the sun and dappled with shadow from trees older than the
Louisiana Purchase. A breeze shifted the shadows. Willy Butler felt its
touch on his wet forehead.

He half turned to take out his handkerchief. In the act he saw her. It
was the same girl who had followed the course yesterday. She was alone,
just as she had been alone yesterday.

The gallery was bobbing like the crest of a wave over the brow of the
hill; the carriages and machines glittered in slow pomp after the rope,
while the favorites and their caddies marched over the slope toward the
bunkers. But Willy and Dickson had only this one follower, a little
lonely figure, slim and straight and nimble, in white linen, whose
brown arms and brown face against her dazzling gown made the effect of a
Russian eikon minus the gold-incrusted robe. She halted when Willy
halted. With impersonal interest she watched Dickson make a strike. At
the clean, beautiful drive she nodded approval. Then her black brows met
in a slightly worried frown. Willy, club in hand, was aware of the
frown. He was aware--in a sort of subconscious way--that she wanted him
to play well; and he was acutely aware that he had not played well this
afternoon. Even his direction, which had always been his best ally, had
not kept its form. Twice had he gone into the rough, losing a shot each
time, despite his really hair-raising recoveries. Now the other man was
two up, with only four more holes to play. At best Willy could but halve
this hole, at best, with a perfect approach and a long putt. "A duffer
at golf, like everything else!" ran his own bit