The remainder of the conversation was confined for the most part to Frances and the curate. They discussed the village and the people in it and the church and its activities. At length Judson mentioned golf. “Mr. Knowles and I are to have another round shortly, I trust,” he said. “You owe me a revenge, you know, Mr. Knowles.” “Oh,” exclaimed the young lady, in apparent surprise, “does Mr. Knowles play golf?” “Not real golf,” I observed. “Oh, but he does,” protested Mr. Judson, “he does. Rather! He plays a very good game indeed. He beat me quite badly the other day.” Which, according to my reckoning, was by no means a proof of extraordinary ability. Frances seemed amused, for some unexplained reason. “I should never have thought it,” she observed. “Why not?” asked Judson. “Oh, I don't know. Golf is a game, and Mr. Knowles doesn't look as if he played games. I should have expected nothing so frivolous from him.” “My golf is anything but frivolous,” I said. “It's too seriously bad.” “Do you golf, Miss Morley, may I ask?” inquired the curate. “I have occasionally, after a fashion. I am sure I should like to learn.” “I shall be delighted to teach you. It would be a great pleasure, really.” He looked as if it would be a pleasure. Frances smiled. “Thank you so much,” she said. “You and I and Mr. Knowles will have a threesome.” Judson's joy at her acceptance was tempered, it seemed to me. “Oh, of course,” he said. “It will be a great pleasure to have your uncle with us. A great pleasure, of course.” “My--uncle?” “Why, yes--Mr. Knowles, you know. By the way, Miss Morley--excuse my mentioning it, but I notice you always address your uncle as Mr. Knowles. That seems a bit curious, if you'll pardon my saying so. A bit distant and--er--formal to our English habit. Do all nieces and nephews in your country do that? Is it an American custom?” Hephzy and I looked at each other and my “niece” looked at both of us. I could feel the blood tingling in my cheeks and forehead. “Is it an American custom?” repeated Mr. Judson. “I don't know,” with chilling deliberation. “I am NOT an American.” The curate said “Indeed!” and had the astonishing good sense not to say any more. Shortly afterward he said good-by. “But I shall look forward to our threesome, Miss Morley,” he declared. “I shall count upon it in the near future.” After his departure there was a most embarrassing interval of silence. Hephzy spoke first. “Don't you think you had better go in now, Frances,” she said. “Seems to me you had. It's the first time you've been out at all, you know.” The young lady rose. “I am going,” she said. “I am going, if you and--my uncle--will excuse me.”