The Princess stared at him, wide-eyed.
"Truly this is a miracle! Art thou also a worshipper of the great Gowf?"
"Am I!" cried the King. "Am I!" He broke off. "Listen!"
From the minstrels' room high up in the palace there came the sound of singing. The minstrels were practising a new paean of praise—words by the Grand Vizier, music by the High Priest of Hec—which they were to render at the next full moon at the banquet of the worshippers of Gowf. The words came clear and distinct through the still air:
"Oh, praises let us utter
To our most glorious King!
It fairly makes you stutter
To see him start his swing!
Success attend his putter!
And luck be with his drive!
And may he do each hole in two,
Although the bogey's five!"
The voices died away. There was a silence.
"If I hadn't missed a two-foot putt, I'd have done the long fifteenth in four yesterday," said the King.
"I won the Ladies' Open Championship of the Outer Isles last week," said the Princess.
They looked into each other's eyes for a long moment. And then, hand in hand, they walked slowly into the palace.