"I suppose you two have not quit eating?" he suggested.
We promptly admitted we were hungry.
"And I presume you will play golf once in a while?"
We assured him that we certainly should.
"Well, suppose we go to the hotel, get a bite to eat and then go out and play that foursome with old Tom Morris and Carter," he pleaded. "There is one green out there which is called 'The Garden of Eden,' and I want to show it to you. You, Grace, and mother and Mrs. Carter can go along and be the gallery. I'll promise not to say a word or give a hint about what has happened."
Oh, that happy, happy afternoon on the turf, sand dunes, braes and greens of Old St. Andrews! The sea gulls circled over our heads, the foam-flecked surf crooned its song of love, the River Eden wound about our pathway, and the blue sky smiled down upon us.
"Sweetheart," I said, "there is one confession you have not made to me."
"What is it, Jack?"
"Why did you play so wretchedly that first game in Woodvale?"
Old Tom Morris looked back and smiled in sympathy with her joyous laugh.