f those I
know would be more likely to die of thirst. Rather!"

Later on he asked another question.

"And how is the pretty niece, Knowles?" he inquired. "When is she coming
back to the monastery or the nunnery or rectory, or whatever it is?"

"I don't know," I replied, curtly.

"Oh, I say! Isn't she coming at all? That would be a calamity, now
wouldn't it? Not to me in particular. I should mind your notice boards,
of course. But if I were condemned, as you are, to spend a summer among
the feminine beauties of Mayberry, a face like hers would be like a
whisky and soda in a thirsty land, as a chap I know is fond of saying.
Oh, and by the way, speaking of your niece, I had a curious experience
in Paris a week ago. Most extraordinary thing. For the moment I began
to believe I really was going dotty, as Auntie fears. I... Your drive,
Knowles. I'll tell you the story later."

He did not tell it during that round, forgot it probably. I did not
remind him. The longer he kept clear of the subject of my "niece" the
more satisfied I was. We lunched in the pavilion by the first tee. There
were sandwiches and biscuits--crackers, of course--and cakes and sweets
galore. Also thirst-quenching materials sufficient to satisfy even the
gamblers of Mr. Heathcroft's acquaintance. The "sporting curate," behind
a huge Scotch and soda, was relating his mishaps in approaching the
seventh hole for the benefit of his brother churchmen, Messrs. Judson
and Worcester. Lady Carey was dilating upon her pet subject, the talents
and virtues of "Carleton, dear," for the benefit of the London attorney,
who was pretending to listen with the respectful interest due blood and
title, but who was thinking of something else, I am sure. "Carleton,
dear," himself, was chatting languidly with young Bayliss. The latter
seemed greatly interested. There was a curious expression on his face.
I was surprised to see him so cordial to Heathcroft; I knew he did not
like Lady Carey's nephew.

The second and final round of the tournament began. For six holes
Heathcroft and I broke even. The seventh he won, making us square for
the match so far and, with an equal number of strokes. The eighth we
halved. All depended on the ninth. Halving there would mean a drawn
match between us and a drawing for choice of prizes, provided we were in
the prize-winning class. A win for either of us meant the match itself.

Heathcroft, in spite of the close play, was as bland and uncon