“Very well. Why are you going to stay in Ottawa?” she asked, looking squarely at him.
“Ah, that’s the wrong question. I can’t tell you at this moment. But you may make a note and refer to it, again.” The same curious sombreness crept into his voice. A new intensity shone in his face. “Later, I will remind you that I had a reason! But ask another . . .”
“With whom did you play golf?”
“None other than His Royal Highness. Are you impressed?”
“Not a whit! I’m not even surprised.”
“What?”
“No! I’ve already seen it in the papers.”
“You’re joking!”
“Really! It’s the first item in the Social Column. Only the reporter neglected to mention the score.”
Dilling thanked heaven for that. The Duke, he thought, must be one of the best players in the United Kingdom. “He beat me”, he added. “Indeed, Pratt, who followed us round with fatuous insistence, called it a wallop.”