"There is nothing he doesn't know, Simon. And it is precisely because our love displeases him and displeases my step-mother even more that he wants to get me away from you." "I insist on this, Isabel." "Speak to him, then, Simon, and, if he refuses, don't try to see me to-day. To-morrow, a little before twelve o'clock, I shall be at Newhaven. Wait for me by the gangway of the steamer." He had something more to say: "Have you seen the _Argus_?" "Yes." "You're not frightened of the crossing?" She smiled. He bowed over her hand and kissed it and said no more. Lord Bakefield, a peer of the United Kingdom, had been married first to the aforesaid great-grand-daughter of George III. and secondly to the Duchess of Faulconbridge. He was the owner, in his own right or his wife's, of country-houses, estates and town properties which enabled him to travel from Brighton to Folkestone almost without leaving his own domains. He was the distant player who had lingered on the links; and his figure, now less remote, was appearing and disappearing according to the lay of the ground. Simon decided to profit by the occasion and to go to meet him. He set out resolutely. In spite of the young girl's warning and though he had learnt, from her and from Edward Rolleston, something of Lord Bakefield's true character and of his prejudices, he was influenced by the memory of the cordial welcome which Isabel's father had invariably accorded him hitherto. This time again the grip of his hand was full of geniality. Lord Bakefield's face--a round face, too fat for his thin and lanky body, too florid and a little commonplace, though not lacking in intelligence--lit up with satisfaction. "Well, young man, I suppose you have come to say good-bye? You have heard that we are leaving?" "I have, Lord Bakefield; and that is why I should like a few words with you." "Quite, quite! You have my attention." He bent over the tee, building up, with his two hands, a little mound of sand on whose summit he placed his ball; then, drawing himself up, he accepted the brassy which one of his caddies held out to him and took his stand, perfectly poised, with his left foot a little advanced and his knees very slightly bent. Two or three trial swings, to assure himself of the precise direction; a second's reflection and calculation; and suddenly the club swung upwards, descended and struck the ball. The ball flew through the air and suddenly veered to the left; then, curving to the right after passing a clump of trees which formed an obstacle to be avoided, it fell on the putting-green at a few yards' distance from the hole. "Well done!" cried Simon. "A very pretty screw!" "Not so bad, not so bad," said Lord Bakefield, resuming his round. Simon did not allow himself to be disconcerted by this curious method of beginning an interview and broached his subject, without further preamble: