The girl moved a little restlessly. "I don’t know," she said at length. "I can’t make up my mind. Sometimes I think it would be hell if he didn’t: more often I think it would be hell if he did." Almost unconsciously they had commenced to stroll back side by side towards the tenth tee. "Do you think it’s been worth while?" she asked him, suddenly. Ralton carefully teed up his ball, and with a full clean swing drove it over the sandy hummock in front of him. "Depends how you look at it, doesn’t it?" he answered, shouldering his clubs, and stuffing an empty pipe into his mouth. "We’ve beaten the swine." "I suppose that’s the only thing that matters to a man," she returned. "It’s the only thing that matters to you." Ralton inspected the lie of his ball carefully, and then looked at his clubs. "I think I ought to get up with a heavy niblick," he remarked, thoughtfully. "What say you, my lady of the links?" "Not if you play as you were playing when you nearly killed me," she retorted. "The ball will go into the sea." Ralton smiled. "It wasn’t me playing then; it was a kindly spirit that possessed me." The ball rose towering into the air, and fell dead close to the pin—that perfect shot which marks the true golfer. "You seem to have played this game before, remarked the girl. "Once, when I was very young," answered Ralton, glancing at her with a twinkle in his eyes. "I’m a bright young lad, ain’t I?" "What is your handicap?" she demanded. "It used to be plus one," he murmured, examining the line of his putt. "Then you had no business to try to murder me. It wasn’t at all funny." The ball lipped the hole, and Ralton looked at her accusingly. "That was you," he remarked. "You’ve got no business to talk to the man at the putter." "It was nothing of the sort," jeered the girl. "Merely a rotten bad putt." She kicked his ball towards him, and replaced the pin in the hole. "What are you supposed to be doing," she said, suddenly, "playing about here by yourself?" "Trying to loosen some very stiff muscles for the Active Service Championship," he answered. "Which accounts for me, my lady. Have you got as satisfactory an explanation for yourself?" She frowned slightly, but Ralton was apparently engrossed in making his tee. She waited until he had driven, and the frown disappeared. "What a beauty!" she cried, enthusiastically. Then she recollected his remark, and frowned again. "But the fact that you happen to be able to play golf is no excuse for your being rude." He turned and faced her with a whimsical smile on his lips. "Was I rude?" he said. "Ah! no—I think not. Because somehow I’ve got an idea that you haven’t at all a satisfactory explanation to give of yourself. I think—I may be wrong—but, I think, you’re posing." "Posing! What do you mean?" The girl’s voice was indignant.