Ralton affected to consider the point. "I must confess," he remarked, after a while, "that there would seem to be some grounds for your thoughts. But you must admit," he added, hopefully, "that the ball was going very fast anyway. The direction, I grant you, was faulty, but the velocity left nothing to be desired."
"What you lose on the swings you make up on the roundabouts sort of idea," she said. "Very nice, indeed, but you won't be popular if you make a speciality of that type of shot. Incidentally your ball is in there." She pointed to the bunker beside the green, and prepared to continue her interrupted walk.
"You haven't told me if I'm forgiven yet," cried Ralton. "I really am most frightfully sorry."
The girl paused for a moment, and her blue eyes were faintly mocking. "You see," he plunged on, "I've been slicing abominably from the tee the whole afternoon, and then suddenly at the tenth, for no reason that can possibly be accounted for, save the latent devilry in every golf bail, I got the most appalling hook on the beastly thing...."
She started to laugh, and in a moment he was laughing too.
"Just this once I think I can stretch a point and pardon you," she said. "But in future you must be provided with a man carrying a red flag."
"It shall be done," he answered. "Only for absolute safety, I suggest the tee beside me." He looked at her tentatively. "Do you play the noble game yourself?"
The mocking look returned to her eyes. "I don't think that we have been introduced, have we?" she murmured.
"An attempt at murder is not a bad introduction," he returned, with becoming gravity. "And, in addition, I can assure you that I know some very nice people. Two war knights—pickles and artificial legs—frequently ask me to dinner...."
For a moment he was amazed at the look of weary contempt that flamed in her eyes. "They're the only sort of people who can these days, aren't they?" she said. "The rest of us just pick up the crumbs that fall from the rich man's table and wonder why. You're a soldier, of course?"