"Depends how you look at it, doesn't it?" he answered, shouldering his clubs, and stuffing an empty pipe into his mouth. "We've beaten the swine."
"I suppose that's the only thing that matters to a man," she returned.
"It's the only thing that matters to you." Ralton inspected the lie of his ball carefully, and then looked at his clubs. "I think I ought to get up with a heavy niblick," he remarked, thoughtfully. "What say you, my lady of the links?"
"Not if you play as you were playing when you nearly killed me," she retorted. "The ball will go into the sea."
Ralton smiled. "It wasn't me playing then; it was a kindly spirit that possessed me."
The ball rose towering into the air, and fell dead close to the pin—that perfect shot which marks the true golfer.
"You seem to have played this game before, remarked the girl.
"Once, when I was very young," answered Ralton, glancing at her with a twinkle in his eyes. "I'm a bright young lad, ain't I?"
"What is your handicap?" she demanded.
"It used to be plus one," he murmured, examining the line of his putt.