As he walked on he remembered with a pang that he had forgotten the ambassador. In the pleasure excited by a perfect drive, a perfect brassie-shot, and an ill-fated, ill-judged, but clean full mashie, he had lost sight of the other's existence. Now he was nowhere to be seen. "Confound it!" thought Lionel uneasily; "what a kid I am to get carried away by the game! Has he holed out and gone on, or is he by any chance in that bunker?"
He hurried forward, now thinking only of the chase; and as he drew nearer he heard curious sounds proceeding from the grave of so many hopes. Voluble, emphatic and distinct utterance in an alien tongue floated through the abashed ether, and with a sigh of relief Lionel approached and stood on the brink of the pit.
It was a deep sandy hollow, shored up on the farther side with stout banks of timber, and at the bottom stood the ambassador cursing his ball. So intent was he on this futile but human act, that he did not observe his audience above. Lionel stood and watched, not ill-pleased that an aged arbiter of the peace of nations could on occasion show some feeling, real if regrettable. Presently the exasperated diplomat ceased his objurgations, swung his niblick once more and tried to get out. He struck once and the ball bounded heartily against the timbers, falling back at his very feet. He smote again and a shower of stinging sand whipped sharply in his face. "Whee!" he said distinctly, and Lionel's cheek tingled in sympathy. He swung a third time and with neat precision played a flint-stone well on the green, laying it dead. Being a man of obvious determination, though limited skill, he tried again, and yet once more. Then, with uncouth barbaric cries, which Lionel rightly guessed to be in the Turkish language, he lashed flail-wise at the ball. It rolled, leaped, hopped—grew vivid with excitement, but still it never left the bunker.
He gave it up at last. This cunning diplomat, this indomitable statesman, was obliged to own himself defeated. Picking up the ball, he deliberately took a knife from his pocket and tried to cut it in half. This proving impossible, he flung it away, resolved that nevermore should he be troubled with this particular disturber of the peace. Then with a resolute quiet action, he broke his niblick across his knee. Lionel, hoping to get into conversation, left his eyrie and joined him in the pit.
"My turn now, sir!" he said with a fictitious cheerfulness. "I hoped the green was twenty yards closer. This is a beastly place to get out of."
It was a false move. Had he waited till the other had done a hole in three, or at least made one good approach, Lionel might have found him good-humored, conversational, entertaining. But at the moment he was not himself. With a contemptuous "Allez au diable!" the ambassador looked sourly on Lionel and climbed slowly up the hill. Lionel, disappointed but not resentful, watched him drive from the next tee.
He followed him round without result, and in the fulness of time saw him leave the golf-house and walk dejectedly home. After watching him enter The Happy Heart, Lionel made his way peacefully to The Quiet House, hoping Miss Arkwright would have returned. In this he was not disappointed, for the silent footman bowed in answer to his question and held the door invitingly open. Lionel accepted the unspoken welcome, entered and was shown into the drawing-room. The footman placed a chair and motioned that he should sit down. Lionel obeyed with a vague feeling that something was amiss. Was it the silence of the footman that gave him an uncanny impression, or was it the atmosphere of the house? He had heard of presentiments of ill under similar circumstances and had disbelieved them all, but now it was different ... he was uneasy. After sitting uncomfortably in his chair, half expecting it to play some goblin trick upon him, he got up and began to look at a picture hanging above the mantelpiece.
He was still busy with his scrutiny when he heard the door open and close again behind him. Turning at the sound, he saw a lady standing perfectly still in the middle of the room. Lionel gasped, and almost fell. "You!" he quavered, sure now that wizardry was at work. "You!"
"Please sit down," said a grave voice. "I am Miss Arkwright."
Lionel pulled himself together with an effort, but he did not sit down.