he smashed his first toy--and other milestones in his career. . . . Ah!
but it's a jolly house. There are no crowds of men-servants and
maid-servants; there is no priceless Limousine. And the girl just wears
a grey silk jersey with a belt, and a grey skirt and grey brogues. And,
ye Gods! but she looks topping, as she steps out to join the brutal man
outside. Her golf clubs are slung over her shoulder, and together they
foot it to the first tee. . . . He is just scratch, and she. . . . let's
think. . . ."

"Eight would be a good sort of handicap," murmured the girl.

"Eight it is," said Vane. "That means he gives her six strokes, and
generally beats her."

"I'll bet he doesn't," cried the girl.

"You must not interrupt the old gipsy, my lady," rebuked Vane, "You see,
it doesn't matter to those two which wins--not a little bit, for the most
important hole in the course is the tenth. It's a short hole, with the
most enormous sand bunker guarding the green on the right. And though
for nine holes neither of them has sliced, at the tenth they both do.
And if by chance one of them doesn't, that one loses the hole. You see
it's the most dreadful bunker, and somehow they've got to get to the
bottom of it. Well--it would be quite unfair if only one of them went
there--so the non-slicer loses the hole."

The girl's face was dimpling gloriously. . . .

"Then when they've got there--he just takes her in his arms and kisses
her; and she kisses him. Just now and then she'll whisper, 'My dear, my
dear--but it's good to be alive,' but most times they just kiss. Then
they go on and finish their game. Except for that interlude they are
really very serious golfers."

"And when they've finished their game--what then?"

"They go back and have tea--a big fat tea with lots of scones and
Devonshire cream. And then, after tea, the man goes round to the garage
and gets the car. Just a jolly little two-seater that does fifty on the
level. The girl gets in and they drive away to where the purple heather
merges into the violet of the moors! And it's great. Perhaps they'll
come back to dinner, or perhaps they'll have it somewhere and come home
when the sun has set and the stars are gleaming above them like a
thousand silver lamps. They don't know what they're going to do when
they start--and they don't care. They'll just be together, and that's
enough. . . . Of course they're very foolish and inconsequent
people. . ."