"Oh, no, he didn't tell me. It was Ellen. She was so pleased; she never had any hopes of _me_, don't you know; and now she says they won't need to sacrifice Moira. But if the young man doesn't want me, _I_ shan't be to blame. Now tell me about your girl!" "There's nothing to tell. I never saw her. I don't know her name, even. Only she's got a title; and she is very brilliant and charming and modest, and I'll be lucky. It's another case of parents butting in. All he wants, he says, is for me to _see_ her; I told him I should run away if I knew I were in the same town! But never mind me. Don't worry, little girl. _I'll_ think up a way to save you all right, all right." His face, as he spoke, was stern and dark. She was sure that he must have great latent strength of character. Abruptly she changed the subject recalling the elusive mowing-machine and the approach of the Brookes' dinner-hour. Willy was sure that Mr. Rivers would want her to see the mower, it was--was--so typically American; and if he would take her directly and swiftly home, wouldn't she go on another search to-morrow? "If you win," said she; she felt that she must hesitate at nothing which would give him that cup. "Another thing, don't you give another thought to me; you think every minute of your game. If you distract your mind it may get onto your game." "I won't let it hurt my game, don't you worry," returned Willy confidently. Mrs. Brooke had none of the difficulty which she had anticipated in persuading Willy to dine with them; and she wondered what suffering friends of hers who had had his reluctant presence at social functions, meant by their stories. To be sure, he didn't talk much, but he was a most intelligent listener; and he was visibly having a good time. The next day it was bruited about (no one but Jabez Rivers, who had walked the links with a reporter, could have quite told how) that young Butler was playing a wonderful game. A dozen of the golf lovers deserted the great man and his only less great opponent and saw Willy limp over eleven links, as he beat his man with leisurely ease. That afternoon, while again searching for the mowing-machine which that unsuspected but efficient emissary of the Blind God, Jabez Rivers, had advised them to be sure to find--after with his own eyes he had seen it trundling into the garage--Willy submitted his plan of rescue. They were rolling noislessly along a wide avenue, above which the great elm boughs made a vaulted arch like the groined vault of a cathedral. Through the arches filtered the sunset rose. Willy suddenly stopped the machine. He did not look at her. He clutched the handle of the lever very hard; and she was positive he was pale, a pallor which threw his freckles into high relief. But she was thinking of anything else than freckles.