Now Raven Innes was a man of the world. Moreover, he was a married man,—married to a young and pretty wife,—and married men know things that are not revealed to the ordinary unobservant bachelor. Constant female society sharpens their wits. A woman has only one explanation for all male eccentricities, and Raven Innes had been married long enough to know that in nine cases out of ten this explanation is the correct one. He therefore pursued the conversation on the lines which he felt sure would have been adopted by Mrs. Raven had she been present.
"We have taken a cottage down the road—'Knocknaha,' it's called—so you must come and look us up. No time like the present, so come along now. By the way, my little sister is staying with us—Elsie. Have you seen her yet?"
The diplomat cocked an inquiring eye in the direction of his victim. Personally he had never noticed anything unusual in Pip's relations with Elsie, but in matters of this kind Raven was guided entirely by his wife, and as that female Hawkshaw, whose feminine instincts were infallible in these cases, had long since informed him that there was something in the wind, he was now embarking upon this elephantine effort of cross-examination.
"No, really?" said Pip, who was lighting his pipe at the moment. "No, I haven't seen her yet."
He threw away the match and walked on, his features as immobile as usual. But his old weakness betrayed him, and he turned a dusky red.
Raven Innes noted this portent, chuckled, and inwardly dug himself in the ribs, as we all do when we find that our natural acumen has unearthed a savoury secret.
Nearly a year had passed since Pip returned from "abroad," once more to take his place among his friends and in first-class cricket. During that time he had met Elsie only once—at Pipette's wedding; but he had gathered then, by dint of some artful cross-examination, that she would probably be the guest of the Ravens at Port Allan during August. Had Raven Innes realised that their chance meeting on the links that morning had been the result of a fortnight's planning, waiting, and scheming on the part of the enigmatical young man beside him; that the said young man had abandoned first-class cricket in the height of the season, and taken the precaution of arriving at Port Allan a full week before he knew Elsie was due there, in order to avoid all appearance of having followed her, and had even endeavoured to give a casual appearance to their prospective and greatly desired meeting by withholding his presence for another three days,—Raven Innes would have realised that a superficial blush may conceal a greater depth of guile than the ordinary male intellect can fathom.
II
There are many kinds of golfer, and there are many kinds of girl, but there are only two kinds of girl with whom it is possible to play golf. One is the beginner and the other is the expert.
The beginner is wholly irresponsible. Let us imagine that she is taken out in a "mixed" foursome. She refers to her clubs as "sticks," or even "poles." She declines the services of a caddie, with a little scream of apprehension at the very idea of such publicity. For the same reason she refuses to drive her ball from the tee if any one is "looking." Indeed, she has been known to implore her partner to turn even his sympathetic back during that performance. This excessive shyness is maintained all the way to the first hole, and, unless carefully watched, she will arrive at the green, ball in hand, having been unable to endure the critical gaze of two men at least a hundred and fifty yards away, who she feels convinced are laughing at her.