Jeannie was standing on the first tee of the Wroxton golf links, doing what is technically known as addressing her ball. In other words, her driver was moving spasmodically backward and forward behind it, and she was thinking about her right foot. Some six yards behind her stood two impassive caddies, and Jack was standing opposite her ball and to the right of her. “Don’t press,” he said, “and go back slowly. Let your left heel come off the ground quite naturally as the club goes back. Oh, keep your head still! Your spine is a pivot round which the arms work. And keep your eye on the ball.” Jeannie’s club trailed very slowly back to about the level of her right shoulder, when suddenly an idea struck her, and she paused. “Jack, how can I see my club head on the back swing out of my left eye if I am to look at the ball?” she asked. “If you are going to argue, stand at ease,” said Jack. “You will certainly miss the ball if you pause on the top of your swing. Let’s talk it out, and take your stroke afterward.” Jeannie was looking fixedly at the ball. “Don’t talk when I’m playing,” she said, and with a long breath raised her club a little higher. Then she hit furiously, and a frenzied ball hid itself in long grass some ten yards in front of the tee. “I told you so,” she exclaimed. “Have it again,” said Jack. “No, certainly not,” said Jeannie. “Oh, yes; I think I will. I will start now. That was trial.” “About the club head,” explained Jack, “it’s like this. You can see it, but you don’t look at it. You look at the ball, and at nothing else whatever. But do remember that you have to hit a part of the ball which you don’t see at all.” Jeannie’s caddie had teed her ball again. “Then what’s the use of looking at it?” she asked. “In about five years, if you stick to it, you will understand,” he said. Jeannie shifted uneasily on her feet. Then another idea struck her. “Then tell me that in five years’ time,” she said. “But for practical purposes, what am I to do this minute?” There were already another couple waiting to start, one of which was Colonel Raymond. Jeannie saw him, and nothing in the world would have induced her to let him pass. Jack guessed as much. “Hit this ball as hard as ever you can,” he said. Jeannie shortened the intended swing, and threw her club at the ball. Oddly enough, it rose clear of the grass, towered, and fell a full hundred yards off, and getting a forward kick was like a bolted rabbit. “I told you so,” she said again. From behind came Cousin Robert’s voice. “By gad!” he exclaimed loudly. But Jeannie did not turn round, and said negligently to Jack: “Topped!” Now, the ball was anything but topped, and Jack, struggling with inward laughter, sent a careless hooked drive down wind and far. Then, as is natural at golf, the great silences of the game which isolates the player from the whole world closed round them and they went forward.