credit, Pip and Elsie just managing to draw level by winning a match on the last green on Saturday evening. Sunday golf is not encouraged in Scotland. Consequently next morning Elsie accompanied her relatives to one of the numerous places of worship in Port Allan, which ancient township possessed its full complement of Auld Licht, Established, United, and Wee Free kirks, and other homes of religious controversy. Pip stayed on the hotel veranda and smoked, watching them pass but lacking nerve to join them. He summoned up sufficient courage, however, to put in an appearance at Knocknaha during the afternoon. He was even more silent than usual, though he made a hearty tea. After that meal he invited Elsie to come for a walk with him. She consented, and they set off together, followed by the amused glances of Mr. and Mrs. Raven. It was a glorious August afternoon. The North Sea, blue and placid, lapped gently against the red cliffs, or ran with a slow hiss up the slope of yellow sand which bordered the Links of Eric. There was hardly any wind--just enough, in fact, to keep the air clear; and Pip and Elsie, as they lounged luxuriously in a hollow at the top of a sand-hill,--their walk had been strictly limited to a Sabbath day's journey,--could see the smoke of a steam-trawler on the horizon though they could not see the ship herself. "This is nice," murmured Elsie luxuriantly, as she arranged her holland skirt to cover up as much of her tan boots as possible--her Sunday frock had found its way back to her wardrobe soon after church. "Sunday really does feel like a day of rest if one plays golf all the week." "Talking of golf," said Pip, "you haven't played me yet." "I've played with you all the week," replied Elsie. "With me, not against me," said Pip. "Oh, I see. All right; I'll play with Raven to-morrow against you and Ethel. We shall beat you horribly, though." Elsie was in a very perverse mood. "Yes, but I want a single--a match," explained Pip. "Oh!" said Elsie. There was a pause. Pip lit his pipe, which had somehow gone out, and continued,-- "Shall we say to-morrow morning?" "Afraid not," said Elsie. "I rather think I promised to play one of the men in the hotel." This was not strictly true, but Elsie was in a curious frame of mind that evening. There was no reason why she should not have played Pip his match, nor was she particularly averse to doing so. But some flash of feminine intuition, infallible as ever, was unconsciously keeping her in the defensive attitude natural to women in such cases. "Is it Anstruther?" inquired Pip. "Yes," said Elsie rashly. "In that case your match is off, for he has had a wire, and must go to-morrow morning." "It's not Mr. Anstruther," said Elsie. "I had forgotten he was going away." (This was strictly true.) "Is it Gaythorne?" asked Pip. Elsie regarded him covertly, through conveniently long lashes. She suspected another trap. "No," she said at last.