Mr. Sabin took the hint and was silent. They were on the eleventh green, and bordering it on the far side was an open road--the sea road, which followed the coast for a mile or two and then turned inland to Deringham. Wolfenden, preparing to putt, heard wheels close at hand, and as the stroke was a critical one for him he stood back from his ball till the vehicle had passed. Glancing carelessly up, he saw his own blue liveries and his mother leaning back in a barouche. With a word of apology to his opponent, he started forward to meet her. The coachman, who had recognised him, pulled up his horses in the middle of the road. Wolfenden walked swiftly over to the carriage side. His mother's appearance had alarmed him. She was looking at him, and yet past him. Her cheeks were pale. Her eyes were set and distended. One of her hands seemed to be convulsively clutching the side of the carriage nearest to her. She had all the appearance of a woman who is suddenly face to face with some terrible vision. Wolfenden looked over his shoulder quickly. He could see nothing more alarming in the background than the figure of his opponent, who, with his back partly turned to them, was gazing out to sea. He stood at the edge of the green on slightly rising ground, and his figure was outlined with almost curious distinctness against the background of air and sky. "Has anything fresh happened, mother?" Wolfenden asked, with concern. "I am afraid you are upset. Were you looking for me?" She shook her head. It struck him that she was endeavouring to assume a composure which she assuredly did not possess. "No; there is nothing fresh. Naturally I am not well. I am hoping that the drive will do me good. Are you enjoying your golf?" "Very much," Wolfenden answered. "The course has really been capitally kept. We are having a close match." "Who is your opponent?" Wolfenden glanced behind him carelessly. Mr. Sabin had thrown several balls upon the green, and was practising long putts. "Fellow named Sabin," he answered. "No one you would be likely to be interested in. He comes down from London, and he plays a remarkably fine game. Rather a saturnine-looking personage, isn't he?" "He is a most unpleasant-looking man," Lady Deringham faltered, white now to the lips. "Where did you meet him? Here or in London?" "In London," Wolfenden explained. "Rather a curious meeting it was too. A fellow attacked him coming out of a restaurant one night and I interfered--just in time. He has taken a little house down here." "Is he alone?" Lady Deringham asked. "He has a niece living with him," Wolfenden answered. "She is a very charming girl. I think that you would like her." The last words he added with something of an effort, and an indifference which was palpably assumed. Lady Deringham, however, did not appear to notice them at all.