Rodney Spelvin’s face showed appreciation of the change of programme. Golf bored him, but what could be nicer than a gentle row in a boat. “Capital!” he said. “Capital! Capital!” There was a dreamy look in Rodney Spelvin’s eyes as he leaned back with the tiller-ropes in his hands. This was just his idea of the proper way of passing a summer afternoon. Drifting lazily over the silver surface of the stream. His eyes closed. He began to murmur softly: “All to-day the slow sleek ripples hardly bear up shoreward, Charged with sighs more light than laughter, faint and fair, Like a woodland lake’s weak wavelets lightly lingering forward, Soft and listless as the--Here! Hi!” For at this moment the silver surface of the stream was violently split by a vigorously-wielded niblick, the boat lurched drunkenly, and over his Panama-hatted head and down his grey-flannelled torso there descended a cascade of water. “Here! Hi!” cried Rodney Spelvin. He cleared his eyes and gazed reproachfully. Jane and William Bates were peering into the depths. “I missed it,” said Jane. “There she spouts!” said William, pointing. “Ready?” Jane raised her niblick. “Here! Hi!” bleated Rodney Spelvin, as a second cascade poured damply over him. He shook the drops off his face, and perceived that Jane was regarding him with hostility. “I do wish you wouldn’t talk just as I am swinging,” she said, pettishly. “Now you’ve made me miss it again! If you can’t keep quiet, I wish you wouldn’t insist on coming round with one. Can you see it, William?” “There she blows,” said William Bates. “Here! You aren’t going to do it _again_, are you?” cried Rodney Spelvin. Jane bared her teeth. “I’m going to get that ball on to the green if I have to stay here all night,” she said. Rodney Spelvin looked at her and shuddered. Was this the quiet, dreamy girl he had loved? This Mænad? Her hair was lying in damp wisps about her face, her eyes were shining with an unearthly light. “No, but really--” he faltered. Jane stamped her foot. “What _are_ you making all this fuss about, Rodney?” she snapped. “Where is it, William?” “There she dips,” said William. “Playing six.” “Playing six.” “Let her go,” said William. “Let her go it is!” said Jane. A perfect understanding seemed to prevail between these two. _Splash!_ The woman on the bank looked up from her Vardon as Rodney Spelvin’s agonised scream rent the air. She saw a boat upon the water, a man rowing the boat, another man, hatless, gesticulating in the stern, a girl beating the water with a niblick. She nodded placidly and understandingly. A niblick was the club she would have used herself in such circumstances. Everything appeared to her entirely regular and orthodox. She resumed her book. _Splash!_ “Playing fifteen,” said Jane. “Fifteen is right,” said William Bates. _Splash! Splash! Splash!_ “Playing forty-four.” “Forty-four is correct.” _Splash! Splash! Splash! Splash!_