"Never better in her life!"
"And how is—how is Miss Harding?"
We were on the edge of the green, and Harding had played his ball so that we passed near the old gentleman who was Harding's opponent.
"Smith," said that gentleman, "I want you to know Old Tom Morris! Of course, you have heard of him—every golfer has—and all that I ask is that I may be able to play as good a game and be as good a fellow when I am eighty-five years old. Mr. Morris, this is my young friend, John Henry Smith, of America."
I greeted this famous character with some commonplace remarks, and remained silent while they putted out. I made no further attempt in the conversational line until they had driven the next tee.
"How is your daughter, Mr. Harding?" I asked.
"Grace? The Kid?" he hesitated. "She's pretty well, but this climate don't seem exactly to agree with her. We must get her started on golf again. She hasn't played a game since she has been here."
My heart gave a bound when he said that little word "we." Surely he knew nothing of the trouble which had come between us. If she were married, he surely would have said something about it, and up to that minute I had a lingering fear that I might have lost her to some suitor other than Carter.
"And she has never played the course?" I asked, not knowing what else to say.
"Not once," he declared. "As a matter of fact, Smith, women are not very popular around here. They herd them off on a third course which is set aside for them. I looked it over, and it's a scrubby sort of a place."