“Mr. Knowles and I are to have another round shortly, I trust,” he said. “You owe me a revenge, you know, Mr. Knowles.”
“Oh,” exclaimed the young lady, in apparent surprise, “does Mr. Knowles play golf?”
“Not real golf,” I observed.
“Oh, but he does,” protested Mr. Judson, “he does. Rather! He plays a very good game indeed. He beat me quite badly the other day.”
Which, according to my reckoning, was by no means a proof of extraordinary ability. Frances seemed amused, for some unexplained reason.
“I should never have thought it,” she observed.
“Why not?” asked Judson.
“Oh, I don't know. Golf is a game, and Mr. Knowles doesn't look as if he played games. I should have expected nothing so frivolous from him.”
“My golf is anything but frivolous,” I said. “It's too seriously bad.”
“Do you golf, Miss Morley, may I ask?” inquired the curate.