"Hallo, dear," said Mortimer, greeting her with a friendly waggle of his niblick. "I'm bunkered in the piano. My approach-putt was a little strong, and I over-ran the green." "Mortimer," said the girl, tensely, "I want to ask you one question." "Yes, dear? I wish, darling, you could have seen my drive at the eighth just now. It was a pip!" Betty looked at him steadily. "Are we engaged," she said, "or are we not?" "Engaged? Oh, to be married? Why, of course. I tried the open stance for a change, and----" "This morning you promised to take me for a ride. You never appeared. Where were you?" "Just playing golf." "Golf! I'm sick of the very name!" A spasm shook Mortimer. "You mustn't let people hear you saying things like that!" he said. "I somehow felt, the moment I began my up-swing, that everything was going to be all right. I----" "I'll give you one more chance. Will you take me for a drive in your car this evening?" "I can't." "Why not? What are you doing?" "Just playing golf!" "I'm tired of being neglected like this!" cried Betty, stamping her foot. Poor girl, I saw her point of view. It was bad enough for her being engaged to the wrong man, without having him treat her as a mere acquaintance. Her conscience fighting with her love for Eddie Denton had kept her true to Mortimer, and Mortimer accepted the sacrifice with an absent-minded carelessness which would have been galling to any girl. "We might just as well not be engaged at all. You never take me anywhere." "I asked you to come with me to watch the Open Championship." "Why don't you ever take me to dances?" "I can't dance." "You could learn." "But I'm not sure if dancing is a good thing for a fellow's game. You never hear of any first-class pro. dancing. James Braid doesn't dance." "Well, my mind's made up. Mortimer, you must choose between golf and me." "But, darling, I went round in a hundred and one yesterday. You can't expect a fellow to give up golf when he's at the top of his game." "Very well. I have nothing more to say. Our engagement is at an end." "Don't throw me over, Betty," pleaded Mortimer, and there was that in his voice which cut me to the heart. "You'll make me so miserable. And, when I'm miserable, I always slice my approach shots." Betty Weston drew herself up. Her face was hard. "Here is your ring!" she said, and swept from the room. * * * * * For a moment after she had gone Mortimer remained very still, looking at the glistening circle in his hand. I stole across the room and patted his shoulder. "Bear up, my boy, bear up!" I said. He looked at me piteously. "Stymied!" he muttered. "Be brave!" He went on, speaking as if to himself.