The seventeenth hole is only easy for an accomplished golfer. If you take a driver for the tee shot you go too far; unless you are a fine “iron” player you fall lamentably short. Lionel took his cleek, and was short, but well in the fairway. The Squire selected that old and trusty servant—a spoon. “This does the trick,” he observed to his partner. “There you are, Margot—a possible two, my dear.” He chuckled complacently, taking Margot’s arm. He believed the match was over. The ball he had just driven lay some three yards from the hole. Lionel said to Joyce: “If you want to wipe your shoes on me, Joyce, I’ll lie down and let you do it.” Joyce asked her caddie for a mashie. The shot presented no great difficulties, except that it was necessary to lay the ball dead at a distance of forty yards. To Lionel’s delight she succeeded famously, leaving her partner a putt of three feet upon a level green. At this crisis, Margot failed lamentably. She ought, of course, to have laid her ball within a foot of the hole. Joyce, with the same shot, bearing in mind the score, would have played for safety. Instead, Margot putted boldly for the hole and overran it six feet. The Squire made light of this misdemeanor, for it was quite obvious that the little lady had lost her temper. “I shall down it,” he assured her. But his ball lipped the hole and ran round it. Lionel holed out in three. “All square,” said the Squire. “Now, Margot, we’ll give ’em a taste of our real quality.” She smiled faintly, irritated with herself, irritated with Lionel, who was much too cock-a-whoop. In silence she followed her partner to the eighteenth tee. Joyce drove off as steadily as ever, no pressing, a nice full swing. Margot followed with a fair shot, but many yards short of Joyce’s ball. This left the Squire a very dangerous stroke. If he played for the “pin,” he might land in a ditch. If he “skrimshanked,” Margot would have to play a difficult approach on to the most tricky green on the course. “What shall I do?” he asked. “Go for it,” replied Margot, curtly. Sir Geoffrey took out his brassey, shaking his head, as he noted a “cuppy” lie. But he knew himself to be a good and steady player, and this was “a corking good match.” To his immense satisfaction he played the shot of the day, carrying the ditch and running on to the green. Lionel congratulated him heartily: “You’re a marvel, father. That shot has cost me seven and sixpence.” “Not yet,” said Joyce. “Play well to the left.” Fired by his father’s example, Lionel made an excellent shot. When they reached the green the Squire’s ball lay below the hole. Lionel’s was above. The odds, therefore, were at least two to one against Lionel and his partner. Joyce had to putt downhill upon a slippery surface. Lionel wondered whether her nerve would fail her. A fairy’s touch was needed. If the ball overran the hole it must trickle on down the slope. Joyce, however, did exactly the right thing at the right time.