acted like a good fellow should act, and frankly offered her hand, her
eyes dancing with amusement.

"Smith owns this land," volunteered Harding, still hunting for the
button, "but he was too lazy to work it, so he turned it into a golf
course. He and Carter are great players, so I have heard, but I have
been putting it all over them driving a ball, and I didn't half try at
that."

"Did you hit it, papa?" she asked.

"Did I hit it?" he repeated, "Did I hit it? Ask them if I hit it. Where
in thunder is that collar-button?"

And then the four of us hunted for that elusive but useful article.
Miss Harding found it in a tuft of grass, and I stood and stupidly
watched her while she put it in place, adjusted the collar and tied the
cravat.

"Papa is very lucky in whatever he undertakes," she said, addressing me
rather than Carter, so I believe. "I could have warned you that he would
have beaten you, though I cannot understand how he happened to drive a
ball as far as that."

She smiled and looked proudly at the huge figure of her father, who
patted her on the cheek and laughed disdainfully.

Carter made some commonplace remark, but for the life of me I did not
know what to say. The proud little head, the arched eyebrows, the cheeks
faintly touched with a healthy tan, the little waist, the slender but