Aurora by this time was fingering at the strap of Ventnor's golf bag. "Yes," she decided, "as Patricia says, it's in the game." Steve glanced at her quickly, joyfully, but her head was lowered and she was already down the steps of the stile and walking along the road toward the adjoining meadow. Ventnor's eyes met Patricia's for the fraction of a second of wireless telegraphy, after which Steve plunged down the steps and followed his caddy. The gabled roof of Augustus North's house was visible above the trees scarcely half a mile away, but the paper chase led to it by devious, sequestered ways, which Steve Ventnor and his caddy scrupulously followed. Many times on the way they stopped in the shadow of the trees, and but a few minutes of time remained when Steve ran down his putt. It had taken him just one hundred and three shots to do that last nine hundred yards in an hour and forty minutes. His caddy counted them; which only went to prove her a conscientious person, for under the circumstances book-keeping was a difficult matter. Perched upon her stile, in smiling patience Patricia waited "until the cows came home," while Mortimer Crabb, who had been notified over the telephone of the disaster, drove up to see the final chapter in Jimmy McLemore's undoing. For the farmer came and at some pains extracted him from his perilous post. The Crabbs drove McLemore to his home in their motor and then ran over to the Norths to hear how the cross-country match had finished. The happy couple met them at the steps. "The ball is in the hole, Patty, dear," said Steve Ventnor. "Do I win the Cup?" "You do," said Patricia, looking at her watch, "by three hours and a half. And it's a loving-cup, Steve, with cupids and things, I had it made especially for you and Aurora." Aurora kissed Patricia with enthusiasm. "How did you know, Patty, it was to be Steve?" "Simplest thing imaginable! Because Steve is the most adorable boy, always excepting Mort, that was ever born--and then you know, Aurora--you couldn't have married Jimmy!" "That's true," said Aurora, thinking of Jimmy's legs in the apple-tree, "I really couldn't." Steve refused to return to the Crabbs' to dinner, so the Makers of Opportunities departed alone. Mortimer drove slowly through the gathering dusk and Patricia sat silent. "Are you happy, Patty?" he asked, at last. "No, of course not," said Patricia, pinching his ear, "you know I'm never happy with you, Mort." "Aren't you getting a little tired of putting the world in order?" "Oh, yes. But young people are _so_ provoking. They can never make up their own minds, and you know _somebody_ has to do it for them." "Haven't you ever wondered how the world would get on without you?" "No, but sometimes I've wondered how you would." "I? Ah! I wouldn't get on at all. And yet you know there's a responsibility in being married to a Dea ex Machina." "What, please?" "The machinery may run down." "And then?" "The goddess may end in the ditch."