"I wonder if Miss Harding plays golf?" said Boyd.

"Golf is not among the list of accomplishments mentioned by those
writers who pretend to know all about her," remarked Chilvers. "I have
been forced to learn from a casual reading of society events that this
remarkable heiress is without an equal as an equestrienne, that she
paints, sings, drives a sixty-horse-power Mercedes with a skill and a
courage which discourages the French chauffeurs, and does other athletic
and artistic feats, but I have yet to learn that she golfs."

"I presume," I said, "that she will take up the game, and also the turf.
The three Hardings doubtless will form one of those delightful family
parties which add so much to the merriment of a golf course. I can shut
my eyes and see them hacking their way around the links; the daughter
pretty and more anxious to show off the latest Parisian golfing costumes
than to replace a divot; the father determined, perspiring, and red of
face, and the mother stout and always in the way."

"Isn't Mr. Smith the incorrigible woman-hater?" exclaimed Mrs. Chilvers.
"You did not talk that way before you became so infatuated with golf,
Mr. Smith."

"I am not a woman-hater," I protested, "but I--I don't like to----"

"Some day Smith will meet a fair creature on the golf links and lose his
drive and his heart at the same time," declared Chilvers. "That was the
way I was tripped up and carried into bondage," he added, his hand
wandering to his wife's waist.